


We Were Good (Almost Perfect)

by KrisStylinson



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Louis, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Louis, Smut, a baby!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-12 19:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 40,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9086872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisStylinson/pseuds/KrisStylinson
Summary: He thought when Zayn said he loved him, that meant he would stay because it just doesn’t make sense to tell Louis that he loves him and then leave him. He thought it meant that Zayn was happy in the band again, enough that he’d at least try to stick around until their break in less than a week. He didn’t consider that he'd still fucking leave.
Zayn doesn't want to leave on a bad note. A hurt Louis still tries to cut him off completely, but then a baby factors in and changes everything for the better.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> yikes!!! i know this is a zouis fic aka not larry but??? it happened and it's finally wrung out of me, so. probably back to our regularly scheduled h/l soon. no promises on being completely done with zouis though :/
> 
> **i wrote all but the very last few scenes before finding out about jay's passing. none of this paints her as anything but the kind, loving, supportive woman she was in reality, but i want to clarify that absolutely no disrespect is meant by her inclusion in this fic. she is present for a good chunk of the story if that's still too sensitive for anyone. rest in peace ♡
> 
> title from [almost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37Fw44l2KGQ) by dnce
> 
> i'm sorry for the mess

The first time Zayn mentioned leaving the band, it was late 2013 and they were both in the hazy aftermath of post-weed sex.

 

“Sometimes I think about leaving the band,” Zayn had said offhandedly, quick and to the point with one hand curled around Louis’ naked hip while the other rested under his own head as a makeshift pillow. And in the moment, Louis thought nothing of it—he was probably still a little high from either or both the pot and the sex, his brain flipping through unimportant thoughts to pass the time until he was coherent again. “Would you leave? With me? If I did.”

 

Louis remembers laughing and nodding along, because this was just foggy-headed Zayn talking shit and there couldn’t possibly be any harm to come from his frivolous answer. Zayn had smiled into his neck, gently squeezed Louis’ hip, but then the subject was quickly dropped in favor of fingers roaming over skin until another round just _had_ to happen and all was forgotten by morning.

 

It was a couple of months before Zayn brought up the idea of leaving again, but this time there was no orgasm- or drug-induced high for Louis to blame it on.

 

The group had just been shown what their team wanted out on shelves as their merch—Louis wasn’t much bothered by the fact that they had a large following in younger girls who wanted his face surrounded by pink on a lunchbox or backpack, but he was bothered by the fact that he was twenty-two years old and the pictures they still insisted on using featured a much more fresh-faced nineteen year old version of himself.

 

“We look like little school boys,” Louis muttered once out of the conference room. Zayn was by his side as per always, standing as uncomfortably close as Louis liked. “For a group of people who want me to tone down the flamboyancy, you’d think they wouldn’t want to keep using pictures where I look like the most stereotypical twink.”

 

It had been meant as a joke, something to keep the mood up while they trashed their team as usual, but Zayn’s expression was stony and unamused. “It is bullshit.”

 

Once again attempting to lighten the mood, Louis interjected, “We should have you start designing our stuff. Maybe you could make us look less baby-faced. Could make some pretty sick stuff with that mind of yours.”

 

A smile inched its way onto Zayn’s pouted lips, but it quickly disappeared not even two seconds later. “I always walk out of those meetings feeling like I shouldn’t have been there.”

 

“Shouldn’t have been or didn’t want to be?” Louis inquired, taking a seat on a nearby bench while they wait for their car to pull around. He was pretty sure that neither he nor any of the boys _wanted_ to be in there, either.

 

“Does it matter?” Zayn retorted, plopping beside of Louis gracelessly. “Both still tell me I don’t much belong in the group.”

 

That had caused Louis to snap very quickly with an, “Are you _mental_?”

 

Zayn had looked at him with an almost shocked expression. “I already told you before that I’ve thought about leaving,” he said cautiously. _Bullshit_ , Louis thought. If Zayn had mentioned leaving, Louis definitely would’ve remembered. “Remember? September? When we told the lads we were going back to the room just for a joint but ended up fucking off and on all night?”

 

Oh. _Oh_. “That wasn’t—we were _high_. Why would I take it seriously?”

 

Zayn’s face dropped. “Well I seriously meant it,” he countered firmly, “Just as seriously as I do now.”

 

Louis shook his head. “No. You don’t, so shut up.” He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. Surely he wasn’t considering leaving over something as insignificant as their merchandise—that was illogical, and Louis had always regarded Zayn as a logical person.

 

Something in the way Louis spoke must’ve snapped Zayn from whatever slump his mind had put him in to be speaking such nonsense, because the next thing he did was shake his head as he mumbled his agreement. “Yeah. I don’t mean it, so I’ll shut up. Forget I said anything.”

 

It was forgotten for an entire year afterward, for which Louis was thankful. It had been a nagging feeling in the back of his head since, though—every time Zayn would keep to himself during interviews, or have a particularly unenthusiastic attitude when Louis would wake him up to record, or make it seem like he felt it was becoming a task to perform every night, Louis would remember their conversation from that day and get a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

But it was a new year now—2015. Louis had made a resolution to stop worrying about it, because worrying about it had started taking up more and more of his time lately when it shouldn’t occupy any. Zayn wouldn’t leave because he had his best friends here, coworkers he liked, and the best paying job he could ask for. Zayn wouldn’t leave because Louis was here, and they’d become somewhat co-dependent over the years so leaving just—it wasn’t a viable option.

 

Telling himself that worked for a total of two months. Up until today, when Zayn approached him and the same nasty feeling crept right back up into his stomach worse than ever.

 

Zayn looks both relaxed and nervous as he rolls himself into Louis’ bunk. Louis scoots even closer to the wall to make more room, but Zayn stays at the edge and Louis doesn’t think to question it.

 

“Hey,” Zayn mumbles, smiling softly as he attempts to get onto his side. Louis mimics his position, parroting back a pleasant greeting of his own.

 

Zayn starts looking more nervous than relaxed then, biting his lower lip as he looks anywhere but Louis’ face. “So I talked to some people.”

 

“You talk to people all the time,” Louis says exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. “You’ve clearly got something on your mind, and I’m both nosy and impatient. So just say it.”

 

Zayn stares resolutely at the wall behind Louis’ head. “Even if it’s something I know you won’t want to hear?”

 

Louis hums. “Say it, but maybe soften the blow. I _am_ tender hearted, after all.”

 

It’s sarcasm, obviously, but Zayn keeps his eyes glued to the wall. Louis’ stomach starts to twist up in knots because the only other times Zayn has been unresponsive to Louis’ quips have been times he went on about the crazy impossible notion of leaving the band.

 

Before Louis has the chance to reassure himself that’s not what this is about, Zayn drops the bomb. “I’m buying out of my contract.”

 

Louis is frozen, his lips unable to form any words because his brain can’t decide whether it wants to hurl insults and kick Zayn out of his bunk or try and talk him out of it.

 

“I don’t want you to think it has anything to do with you, because it doesn’t. It’s me and—”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Louis—”

 

“I said shut up.”

 

Zayn pauses. “You can’t just tell me to shut up every time I bring this up and think that makes it go away. It won’t this time. I already talked to my lawyers, our management, everyone. It’s a done deal.”

 

A _done deal_ —Louis’ heart hammers in his chest. “So what? You went and did all of this and didn’t think to tell me until after the fact?”

 

“You’d just try and talk me out of it,” Zayn mumbles weakly.

 

“Because leaving is a dumb fucking idea!” Louis shouts, quickly getting heated up. “It was a dumb idea two years ago and it’s a dumb idea now, so I don’t know how you could expect me to say any differently.”

 

“It’s not a dumb idea for me,” Zayn says coolly, already looking half-defeated. “Being in the band isn’t what I want, it hasn’t been for a long time, and I think you know that.”

 

Louis pauses; of _course_ he knew it. He wouldn’t have been so regularly telling himself that Zayn didn’t want to leave if he really believed it. But it was a tough pill to swallow, thinking your best friend and occasional fuck wanted out of the thing that brought you together, the thing that made it possible for you guys to see each other every day—it was hard to think Zayn’s determination to leave the group had nothing to do with wanting away from Louis, too.

 

“Whatever,” Louis says under his breath, turning onto his side so his back is to Zayn. He grabs his pillow and tucks it under his head, letting out a sigh.

 

“What are you doing?” Zayn asks, sounding like he might just try and scoot forward the last few inches it would take for him to be plastered to Louis’ back.

 

Irked, Louis snaps, “Trying to go to sleep where maybe I can dream of a life in which my best friend hasn’t been plotting how to get away from me for three years.”

 

Sighing, Zayn tugs Louis’ arm until he’s on his back and Louis is left looking at him again. “I was serious the first time I mentioned leaving, and I was serious about asking you to come with me.” Louis huffs. “I wouldn’t leave because of you. If anything, you’re one of the reasons I stayed.”

 

Without another word, Zayn slips out of Louis’ bunk. Part of Louis wants to scream at him for being such a dick for leaving, not let him walk away from the argument with the last word, but Louis is also tired and drained and a nap sounds like the smarter decision.

 

Louis dejectedly curls himself around his pillow and drifts off.

 

♡

 

Louis does his best to ignore Zayn after the talk, occupying his time with causing more trouble than usual just to stay busy. He finds every excuse not to be in the same room as Zayn for more than five minutes, sticks to the other boys during their shows, sleeps in a hotel room instead of the bus with any of the boys that aren’t Zayn and a locked door.

 

His efforts keep himself free of Zayn’s stupid pretty face for one week before Zayn manages to get to him.

 

He’s been rooming with Niall for their stay in Tokyo, bugging him until he gives in and either laughs with Louis or wrestles around with him until they hit the floor. Niall isn’t the type for the heavy, accusatory talks so he doesn’t question why Louis won’t talk to Zayn (Harry and Liam could take notes).

 

Sadly, this means Niall just takes it upon himself to let Zayn into their hotel room with a, “See you at the show,” before Louis even has the time to reject the idea.

 

Zayn doesn’t pause before he crawls into Louis’ bed, tired-eyed and tense as he always gets when he's missing sleep.

 

“Do you really think that's a good idea?” Louis asks, giving him a stare down that he knows won't scare him off but hopes will work anyway.

 

“About as good of one as avoiding me,” comes Zayn’s monotone reply. Louis huffs petulantly, debating turning his back to Zayn the same way he had before in the bunks, but then he thought about how nice it would feel to yell at him a bit more so he kept still.

 

Zayn props his head up on his elbow, lying on his side so he can fit more comfortably in the little space Louis is allowing him on the bed. “I didn’t want you to be mad at me.”

 

“I didn’t want you to leave the band, so I guess we’re even then,” Louis quips. “I don’t see why you think you need to talk to me about it. I wasn’t important enough to bring it up to two weeks ago, so what gives now?”

 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Could you think about something other than yourself for five minutes?”

 

Louis makes his glare even colder. He’s definitely going to kill Niall for letting this happen. “And pretend you leaving doesn’t affect me in the slightest?”

 

“Of course it affects you, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to be the only one getting any fucking flack,” Zayn says firmly. “Would it kill you to show just the tiniest bit of sympathy?”

 

Louis wonders how much flack he’d get if he literally kicked Zayn out of his bed. He considers it reverently, weighing in the pros and cons, up until he meets Zayn’s fearful gaze and the fight starts to leave his body almost instantly.

 

“I’m sorry,” Louis lets out before he can think about it, because damn it if he doesn’t have a major soft spot for him.

 

Zayn relaxes at those two words alone, his chest leaning just the slightest bit closer to Louis. Louis sighs, pulling him the rest of the way so he can wrap his arms around him.

 

“I can’t win,” Zayn mumbles in defeat, “I stay, I’m unhappy. I leave, everyone hates me.”

 

“We won't hate you,” Louis soothes him, then adds, “ _I_ won't hate you.”

 

Zayn loosens up at the confession, looking Louis in the eye. “That’s all I’ll ask of you.”

 

Louis decides then that he means it; he supposes if that's all Zayn wants from him, it won’t hurt him to suck it up and do it.

 

Before he can try and find anything else to say, Zayn’s lips are on him, kissing from his neck to his jaw to his mouth. It’s been a hot minute since they’ve done anything, what with their busy schedules keeping them from finding the time or the energy. Louis knows Zayn has other randoms in a club to fuck, anyway.

 

The thought makes him jealous, though he really shouldn’t be considering they aren’t a couple and he isn’t exactly faithful to Zayn either, but it’s still something he can’t help but act on.

 

He fists his hands through Zayn’s hair, holding his head still as he slips his own tongue into his mouth. He moans, determined to make it the best fuck Zayn’s had in a while—since the last time he had Louis.

 

He turns Zayn onto his back and throws a leg over his waist, pulling the rest of his body until he’s straddling him. He leans in for another kiss while Zayn is still processing the move, tugging on his lower lip with his teeth to regain Zayn’s attention. He sits up, knows Zayn will follow if only to keep the contact going.

 

Smiling, Louis grinds down into Zayn’s groin—it’s a simple move that he’s fallen victim to countless times before. A cheap move, maybe, considering the situation, but. Louis isn’t known for playing fair, something Zayn has known from day one.

 

“Louis,” Zayn mumbles, sounding like he’ll either plead with Louis to keep going or beg for him to stop. Louis is desperate at this point, doesn’t want to chance this coming to an end, so he kisses him hard enough that Zayn swallows whatever he was going to say and melts into Louis’ hold instead.

 

He’s had Zayn enough that he knows how to navigate around his body, his brain—which places to touch to get him soft and smiley, what to say to have him riled up enough to make it quick and rough, but most importantly what to do to get him hard, fast. He’s pulling out all the stops because there’s still a chance it’ll be the last time he can, and if it is, he wants to give Zayn something to miss.

 

He rocks back onto Zayn’s crotch dutifully, drinking in every moan and plea that comes from the boy’s mouth. He smiles and keeps it going for an excruciating but short three more minutes, even when Zayn is practically begging him to do _something_ more—to get him there is kind of the point, anyway.

 

“ _Louis_ ,” Zayn groans, sounding different than before, sterner, more into what was going on. Louis ceases his movements long enough to give Zayn a pretty smile. Zayn rolls his eyes. “You’re such a _tease_.”

 

Louis laughs. “It isn’t teasing when I’m following through,” he promises as he climbs off of Zayn to retrieve the lube from his bag, as if to prove his statement.

 

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “No condom?”

 

Louis shakes his head; there’s been a few (many) times that Zayn has expressed how much more he enjoyed going bareback and how he did it whenever he had the chance (a.k.a. a partner he could trust to be clean). Louis has let him do it himself a couple of times when he’s bottomed for him, and despite it not being so bad in the moment, Louis isn’t a fan of the clean-up. But if there’s ever a time to be pushing that aside, it’s tonight.

 

It’s the right decision—when he returns with the lube, Zayn pulls him onto the bed and kisses at his neck which, admittedly, is a weakness of Louis’. He bites down right at the most sensitive spot where his neck and collarbone meet, kissing over the spot afterward to soothe it. Louis lets out an embarrassing noise and lets Zayn move him so he’s on his back.

 

Zayn takes the lube from Louis’ hand and makes quick work of coating his fingers. Louis watches with eager eyes—Zayn has magical fingers that seem to always know how and where to touch him to have Louis begging before his cock is even out nine times out of ten. He would feel ashamed of it if it weren’t for how pleased Zayn would look when Louis moaned about how good he felt, how good he was _making_ him feel.

 

A finger slides into him while he’s lost in thought, causing a pathetic-sounding whine to leave his mouth. It makes Zayn swear under his breath, though, so Louis can’t bring himself to be ashamed.

 

It eggs Zayn on until he’s managed to fit three fingers into Louis. At this point, Louis is being so loud he’s sure the boys and any other unfortunate passersby have heard him whimpering out Zayn’s name. He’s not sure he can help it anymore, what with the way Zayn’s pumping his fingers in and out of him

 

“Babe—fuck, are you ready?” Zayn asks, sounding breathless, like _he’s_ just been finger-fucked into oblivion. Instead of voicing this, he only nods.

 

The head of Zayn’s cock is already at his entrance before he’s even started lubing himself up. He’s not usually this impatient when it comes to sex, a gentle fuck more often than not when Louis has had him, but right now it seems he’s too anxious to go slow. Louis isn’t complaining.

 

“Fucking—” Zayn has just popped the tip inside. His fingers curl around Louis’ hips and the grip gradually tightens as he pushes further into Louis. Louis is breathing hard; this is undeniably his favorite part of sex and he’s beyond satisfied to be watching the way Zayn can’t seem to get his mind straight over it.

 

“Come on,” Louis coaxes, digging a heel into Zayn’s back. “Know you want to move.”

 

In answer, Zayn pulls back and gives Louis a deep, hard thrust that draws the moan straight out of Louis’ throat. Zayn notices his reaction, takes a moment to look smug, then decides to keep at the pace. Louis’ back arches up in pleasure, struggling to quiet the other embarrassing noises he can’t seem to stop making.

 

Zayn chooses that moment to lean down enough to kiss up Louis’ neck until he lands on his mouth, biting playfully at his lower lip. Louis, always one to give as good as he’s getting, tangles both hands in the back of his hair to hold him in place as he nips his jaw. Zayn drives his hips in again, somehow _harder_ , and Louis blanches.

 

“So good,” Zayn pants against Louis’ throat, “Such a good boy.”

 

The words do something to Louis; he likes to be praised, almost ashamed of how much he’ll thrive on a couple of admiring words. And for Zayn to call him a _good boy_ —he’s not sure he’s going to last.

 

“Can you—” Louis is choking on his own words, _Jesus._ He feels likes a virgin again. “Fuck, _Zayn_.”

 

Zayn thrusts into him and stops once he’s buried to the hilt. “Mmm, what is it? Do anything, whatever you want.” He’s pushing Louis’ hair back from his forehead now, almost petting him, and apparently Louis very much likes that. “Love you, Louis, whatever you want.”

 

Louis isn’t sure if Zayn’s noticed what he said, if it was a slip of the tongue, something his sex-stupid brain thought would be a good idea, if he actually meant it. He doesn’t know how to take it so he doesn’t react, instead hugging Zayn closer and begging him to go faster.

 

Zayn’s panting and moaning into Louis’ neck, mumbling about how good he is to take him, how tight he feels around him. He tips it off by calling him _precious_ , flicking over his nipples roughly and that does it for Louis—he comes between their bodies with a broken whimper.

 

“Shit,” Zayn swears, pumping his hips faster by the second, but he’s losing his rhythm. “Gonna come—come _inside_ , fuck, such a sweet boy.”

 

Louis breathes out a, “Please,” and then Zayn is coming.

 

It feels just as good as the last time he let him do it, maybe even better. Zayn must be on the same brain wave if the way he can’t seem to stop groaning long after he’s finished coming is any sort of indication.

 

It’s silent for a while after, long enough that Louis is sure Zayn has fallen asleep while inside of him like he did that time two years ago, but then there’s a shuffling of limbs until Zayn is on his elbow facing Louis.

 

“Could I,” he begins, looking anywhere but Louis’ face. “Could I look?”

 

Zayn often doesn’t make sense after an orgasm, but this—Louis isn’t sure what he’s asking of him.

 

He’s not sure, until Zayn finally slips out of him and Louis can feel a few drops of come leak onto the sheets.

 

“Oh,” Louis says, “Yeah, uh. Yeah.”

 

Zayn shimmies down the bed until he settles himself between Louis’ legs. Louis lets his head hit the pillow and closes his eyes, relaxing to the point of dozing in and out of consciousness. A few minutes pass and he’s half-asleep when the pad of Zayn’s thumb presses against his hole.

 

He makes a noise, wondering if he’s trying for another round. Not that Louis would be opposed, but he’s tired and he’d much rather have a cuddle than more fingers up him at the moment.

 

He touches around Louis’ entrance a couple more times before he finally plants a single kiss in the same spot. Louis hitches his breath and readies himself for whatever Zayn is planning on next, but Zayn simply maneuvers back up to his half of the bed and pulls Louis to his chest.

 

“Thanks,” he murmurs after a beat of silence, kissing the back of Louis’ neck softly. Louis hums and waits until he can hear Zayn’s breathing even out to reply, “Love you, too.”

 

♡

 

He wakes up the next morning and heads straight for the shower while Zayn is still snoozing. He feels much better once he’s cleaned himself up, tosses on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before returning to bed.

 

Zayn wakes up an hour later, grumbling nonsense and cuddling up to Louis’ thigh. Louis smiles and leaves it be for a few minutes before whispering softly, “Morning.”

 

“Morning,” Zayn responds a second later, huffing and rolling out of the bed. “Gotta pee.”

 

He gets up, still naked from last night and completely unbothered by it as he makes his way to the bathroom. Louis decides to order some room service while he waits. It’s arrived by the time Zayn is out of the shower, so they end up eating with the occasional strawberry being thrown or fed to each other.

 

It takes until late afternoon for anyone to bother them—it’s Niall and he only shows up to make sure they’re still alive. Louis is sure he’ll report back to Harry and Liam once he’s left, so he makes sure to emphasize that they’re perfectly fine to get them off his back. Niall leaves once they both promise to be ready in time for the show tonight.

 

They fuck again two hours before they have to be onstage, both coming embarrassingly fast. Once it’s over, they get dressed and leave the room with smiles on both of their faces as they meet up with the boys and head to the venue.

 

It goes like that for the next week—they fuck, sleep, perform, repeat. Board the plane, blow each other in the bathrooms, hang off of each other the rest of the flight. Louis feels more relaxed than he has in months, and Zayn seems much calmer than he had two weeks ago. He can’t help but wear a smile on his face near constantly.

 

He’s scrolling through his twitter feed when suddenly his timeline gets an almost immediate influx of tweets. Curious, he reloads the page and immediately regrets it.

 

In front of him is a good one-hundred plus tweets of disbelieving fans freaking out over the statement their team just released saying that Zayn is leaving the band.

 

Louis could cry. He really, truly could, but he could also find Zayn and scream at him.

 

Zayn had wanted to room alone this time around instead of with Louis—that should’ve been clue one, _fuck_ —and he finds him sitting on his bed, scribbling in a notebook. He looks up once Louis enters the room, but Louis doesn’t give him the time to speak.

 

“You’re still leaving?” He shouts. Zayn stares at him. “Yes?”

 

The way he says it, like it was obvious he was still leaving, has Louis fuming. “So that’s it then? We’re fucking one night and you’re fucking off the next?”

 

Zayn’s face takes a sympathetic look then, staring at Louis like a child. “Babe, I—I can’t stay.”

 

That’s all it takes for embarrassment to seep into Louis’ brain. He’s so _stupid_ —he can’t believe he thought one night of sex was going to fix everything, but for whatever reason, he did. He thought when Zayn said he loved him, he meant it and he would stay because it just doesn’t make sense to tell Louis he loves him and then leave. He thought this was Zayn being happy in the band again, enough that he’d at least be staying until their break in less than a week. He didn’t consider that he’d still fucking leave.

 

“I can’t even stand to see your face right now,” Louis mumbles and turns on his heel to leave. He ignores when Zayn calls his name and passes up his own hotel room because he knows Zayn would just try to corner him there again. Instead, he calls for Alberto and gets in a car as soon as possible.

 

He doesn’t give the driver any specific place to go, just tells him to drive around for a while. He makes a point of turning his body toward the window and staring out lest Alberto try to stir up conversation—not that he wants to be rude, but. He’s just really not in the mood.

 

He almost asks the driver to turn on the radio, but he’s sure all of the radio stations are having a field day with the news of he-who-shall-not-be-named and he isn’t ready to hear that. He wasn’t even ready to hear it from said person’s own mouth, and yet.

 

The rest of the drive is spent falling in and out of sleep, with a tear or two shed despite Louis’ best efforts not to cry because this—it isn’t a big deal. It’s not a big deal that Zayn wants to leave the band and Louis, because Louis doesn’t need him. He doesn’t need Zayn to plan how they’ll fuck with the crew for the day because Liam is willing to do the same. He doesn’t need Zayn to make him things that aren’t microwaveable because Niall cooks just as well, sometimes better, even. He doesn’t need to curl up with Zayn on the couch during movies when Harry is bigger anyway and much comfier to sleep on. So. Louis is fine.

 

He tells Alberto as much when Louis gives the simple instruction of driving back to the hotel and he quietly asks if Louis is okay. He’s prepared to give the answer a million more times as soon as he gets back in his room, too.

 

When they pull back into the hotel parking lot, it’s nearing three. The first thing he spots is Zayn sitting by the entrance fiddling with his phone. He must not have noticed the arrival of their car because he doesn’t look up, but Louis is willing to bet he’s been sitting there waiting for him to come back so he can try and give some bullshit apology. Something along the lines of _We can still be friends_ , as if that’s an actual possibility.

 

Louis huffs and gets out of the car with his head down.

 

Zayn is on him as soon as he hears his footsteps. “Louis, God.”

 

Louis glances up and finds Zayn stalking toward him; he rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to be here.”

 

“Fuck off with that,” Zayn mutters harshly. “Come on, you’ve gotta talk to me.”

 

He looks up, prepared to give his rehearsed _I’m fine_ and walk past him to his room, but _fuck_ , he’s one-hundred and ten percent _not_ fine. He’s so far from fine and he feels like he could irrationally burst into tears at any moment.

 

“Nothing to talk about,” Louis quips, biting the inside of his cheek to distract himself. “You’re leaving, whatever. Don’t know why you’re still here.”

 

“Louis,” Zayn repeats, but this time it comes out softer. “I never said I changed my mind.”

 

“Okay.” Louis didn’t want to admit that it was mistake in assuming he had. “No, I get it. I would’ve gotten in as many quick fucks as I wanted before I left, too.”

 

He’s started toward the elevator now. He can hear Zayn following him but he doesn’t bother looking at him.

 

“Stop throwing that in my face,” he says, “I wasn’t trying to fuck and leave.”

 

Louis’ starting to get irritated—that’s good, irritated Louis is less likely to cry. “No, because you’re still here. And you’re still trying to go and explain yourself as if I can be arsed to listen when you’re still gonna be out of here by tomorrow no matter what comes out of your mouth.”

 

He can tell he’s starting to agitate Zayn. He almost hopes he explodes. The two of them have always been the most hot-headed of the group and when they really get into it, it’s not a quiet argument by any means.

 

“I’m sorry that I’m doing something that you don’t like for once,” Zayn retorts. “I’m sorry that I decided to stop waking up to the job that makes me feel like shit, that I’m not seeing it the same way you four are, that I’m finally doing what _I’ve_ wanted to do for years. Any of those satisfy you?”

 

The elevator stops and the doors open; Louis walks out with a harsh, “Fuck you,” tossed over his shoulder as he makes his way to his room. He doesn’t hear Zayn’s footsteps behind him and assumes he’s done trying. He ignores the pang in his chest at the thought.

 

He shuts and locks the door behind him once he’s safely in his room. Harry isn’t there, so he must still be out shopping or whatever it was he was doing. Louis is thankful. He much prefers to sulk in solitude.

 

He turns on the television for background noise and curls up in the fresh comforter on his bed while he tries to focus on anything besides the nagging feeling of being smothered.

 

♡

 

Zayn is packed up and gone when Louis wakes up, as Harry tells him. Louis can’t help but feel regret bubble up inside of himself when he hears it; now that he’s had the time to sleep it off, he’s feeling like a dick. He argues with himself that he shouldn’t— _he_ didn’t fuck Zayn knowing he was going to be gone in a week, _he_ didn’t flake out in the middle of tour, _he_ didn’t say he loved him just to leave him, so he’s not the one at fault here.

 

He decides to check his phone since he hadn’t taken a second look at it since first seeing the tweets that set everything off. Unsurprisingly, there’s a good handful of messages from Zayn.

 

_My room? Please?_

_You left_

_So I guess that’s a no on coming with me ?_

Louis pauses after that one—it’s at least the third time Zayn’s offered it up, but the first Louis had even considered it. God, he shouldn’t be considering it _now_. He’s not going to leave. He wouldn’t have before, and he’s especially not going to now. Zayn’s a prick for even asking. He shakes his head and continues.

 

_Figured we got past ignoring me_

_No? okay_

_Come back to the hotel please?_

_I guess I’ll wait then._

_We have to talk about it_

The rest of the messages continue his pleas for them to talk it out, and they’re all typed just as (mostly) grammatically correct. It’s weird considering Zayn rarely sends a text without a number two or the letter u, but Louis decides it doesn’t matter. Zayn still said what he said and then he packed up and left, so everything else is just detail.

 

♡

 

It’s been one week without Zayn, and Louis thinks they’re all fairing pretty well.

 

Liam hasn’t tried to text him (at least not when Louis is around), Niall has joked about how now they only needed to book two rooms instead of three as if that’s some huge advantage, and Harry will occasionally join in with a jab or two of his own at Zayn when Louis throws one out. The last couple of shows before break went well, too—they divided up his solos and did their best to make four members feel like five even though it was obvious they weren’t. He put on a bright smile for the fans, because he was sure if there was anyone taking his leave any harder than he and the rest of the boys were, it was them.

 

But now, the break they had planned has come, he has two whole months to himself.

 

Going back to his own empty house is almost disheartening, but he reasons that it’s better than the tour bus or a bed that isn’t his own so he’s not as upset about it as he could be.

 

It could use a good cleaning—he’s got washed dishes in the dishwasher that he never put up before they left for tour, jackets tossed over the sofa, and a pile of dirty clothes beside his hamper that he couldn’t have been bothered to actually put _inside_ said hamper. He knows he won’t be able to sleep knowing the mess is still there, so he starts to pick up a few things for his own peace of mind.

 

He puts his iPod in the dock and starts stacking dishes, which ends up being an easy task and only takes ten minutes of his time. He snags the jackets from his couch and takes them to his bedroom to hang in his closet (five minutes) then starts on the most daunting part—a mountain of dirty laundry.

 

He separates the clothes into their respective piles with ease, making a mental note to pick up some detergent next time he can be bothered to go to the store. He makes it down to the last couple of shirts and pants before one article in particular catches his eye.

 

It’s a jumper of Zayn’s that he’d stripped off one night when he’d come over to get high and claimed it was too hot only half a blunt in. Louis remembers stumbling upon it the day of tour, after all of his bags had been packed and loaded, but decided to just leave it because Zayn clearly wasn’t _needing_ it and it wasn’t like he wouldn’t have the time to give it back later anyway.

 

He does the pathetic thing and clutches it to his chest, and suddenly the room feels that much lonelier.

 

♡

 

He’d like to say he hasn’t fallen into a slump, but saying it wouldn’t make it true.

 

Liam had shown up on day eighteen (when you’re lonely, keeping count is much too easy) of break after Louis practically begged him, carrying a six-pack and the take-out Louis requested.

 

“Still don’t see why you couldn’t have gotten this yourself,” he mutters, but he’s smiling and Louis is happy just to have someone else to occupy the house.

 

“Drinking by yourself isn’t very fun, is it, Payno? Almost kind of sad.” Louis retorts, grabbing for the bag of fries Liam hands his way. “Then if you’re already getting the drinks, I don’t see why I should go out as well for the food.”

 

Liam rolls his eyes. “Right. Of course.”

 

They settle on separate ends of the couch with the bag of greasy food between them while Louis switches on the television and turns it to the first decent channel he sees.

 

It takes eating half of his fries for his mouth to start drying up from the salt so he reaches for a beer. He flips the tab and his nose is immediately infiltrated by such an awful smell that he nearly pukes. “Bloody fuck, Liam, what did you buy?”

 

Liam takes a look at the drink in his hand and shrugs. “Same as usual.”

 

He considers grabbing a soda out of his fridge instead, but he hasn’t had anything to drink in weeks and he’s really missing it. He holds his nose and takes a tentative sip.

 

Two seconds is all it takes to prove that to be a bad decision. He only barely makes it to the kitchen sink before he’s throwing up.

 

Liam follows him, of course, and when he catches sight of what’s happened, he pats Louis’ back soothingly. “Are you sick?”

 

Louis wants to punch him. Clearly, puking isn’t something you do when you’re in perfect health. As soon as he goes to snap at him, he finds himself retching into the sink again. Liam’s started rubbing circles into his back now and it’s comforting enough that Louis begrudgingly calms down.

 

He pants for a good few seconds before he finally feels like he won’t throw up if he tries to speak. He wipes his mouth and takes a sip of water before murmuring, “That beer must’ve gone bad.”

 

“I just bought it, Louis,” Liam says as if it’s obvious. “You sure you haven’t caught something?”

 

Louis shakes his head, running water in the sink to clean it up. Admittedly, there’s a chance he caught some germs at the grocery store or the small record shop a few blocks away (it _was_ musty and old), but he’s not going to validate Liam’s worrying. “I doubt it. Probably just wasn’t my night for alcohol,” he jokes humorlessly.

 

Liam seems to accept his response and they return to the couch, Louis with a nice, warm tea instead of the beer he (sadly) can’t drink.

 

Before either of them knows it, it’s one in the morning. Liam decides to stay the night—Louis won’t say as much, but he’s thankful he does. He’s gotten into a habit of thinking about Zayn in his downtime like a hung-up ex which leads to at least two good hours of moping and laziness. He’s sure he’ll get a better night’s sleep knowing Liam’s around to distract him.

 

He sleeps well, too, up until he wakes up at four AM with his stomach rolling and vomits up the rest of his dinner.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swears in a low voice. He hates to throw up, hates the feeling it puts in the pit of his stomach and the nasty aftertaste, hates that it makes him feel momentarily helpless. And now the universe has decided to have him heaving every few hours. Just what he needed.

 

He’s nowhere near the beer from before, so there’s no blaming it on that again. He takes a quick sniff of the air and—aside from the revolting stench of vomit, gross—there’s no strong scent, so nothing that could’ve triggered it. He sighs; he’s probably somehow caught a stomach bug, which means more puking is to come. Even worse, it means _Liam_ was right.

 

“Louis?”

 

He huffs. Speak of the devil.

 

He’s sitting with his head leaning on the side of his toilet, so there’s no denying what had happened.  He flushes it down and winces at the sound. “Liam.”

 

Liam rubs at his eyes. “You got sick again,” he says, but his tone isn’t _I told you so_ like Louis’ undoubtedly would’ve been had the situation been reversed. No, he sounds piteous and sympathetic and Louis isn’t sure which would be worse.

 

“I’ll make an appointment in the morning,” he says, trying to end the conversation as soon as he can. “But for now, I want sleep. It’ll make me feel better,” he tacks on, knowing it would keep Liam from trying to keep him up.

 

Liam consider it, then nods. “Okay. Get back to bed then.” He pauses. “Wait. Do you need help?”

 

Louis glares, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m _fine_ ,” he snaps, still petulant even as he’s rinsing the taste of vomit from his mouth. He looks up, sees Liam blink twice slowly, before he receives a, “Let me know if you need anything,” and then he’s disappearing from Louis’ line of sight. Finally.

 

Louis steps back into his room, debating whether or not to turn the air up higher (maybe the heat played a roll in his sickness this time), but before he can think it out, his eyes land on Zayn’s jumper from before flung carelessly on his dresser. He had put it there after reasoning that Liam would be his best bet to get it back to him without Louis having to speak to him, but then ended up frustrated from fretting so much over it and just tossed it to the nearest available surface.

 

He should probably burn it. Just to make sure he’s committing to the bitter (kind-of) ex thing. Maybe go full “ _Blank Space_ ” and cut some holes first. Just—bad things. He should want to do bad things to it.

 

 _Or_ , Louis’ stupid brain chimes in, _I could wear it._

 

It’s a dumb thought.

 

But.

 

 _A one-off type of thing, that’s what this is_ , he tries to explain to himself as he slips his arms through the sleeves, rolls them up, and pulls his head through the collar. It’s nothing. He’ll just take it off in the morning when he’s thinking more clearly and regretting ever putting it on, and then will come the bad stuff. Like closure. A very bent take on closure.

 

He tucks his knees to his chest, guiltily lays his head on one sweater-covered arm, and hums himself back to sleep.

 

♡

 

“Hey? Lou?”

 

Louis groans. He squints one eye open but the sun is shining too brightly for that to be comfortable, so he flips himself over before looking at the door. Liam is standing there, too alert and chipper for—he glances at the clock—half past one in the afternoon. Oh.

 

He groans, turning his face into the pillow as Liam quietly makes his way to the edge of the bed. “I made your appointment for you,” he mumbles, “It’s at three, so you should probably get up.”

 

He moves so he’s resting on his cheek instead of his actual face and gives Liam an unimpressed look. “Thanks, Dad,” he says moodily. Not like Louis himself is an _adult_ who can make his own (unnecessary) doctor’s appointments or anything.

 

He sits up before he can have the time to think better of it, yawning into a stretch while Liam just. Stares.

 

He looks down at himself and— _fuck_. Due to how often they switched clothes on tour and even off it, there’s a very good chance Liam knows the jumper he’s wearing belongs to Zayn. There’s also a good chance he doesn’t remember exactly whose it is for the same reason.

 

Judging by his face, though, Louis doesn’t think he’ll be so lucky.

 

“Uh—thanks, really. Saves me the trouble, so. I’ll just get dressed,” he mumbles too quickly to sound normal, but he’s desperate to get Liam’s attention away from his stolen sweater.

 

He stands up and Liam seems to snap out of it, nodding once before leaving the room. Louis lets out a breath and pads his way to his dresser. He strips the thing off like it’s cursed before he digs through the drawers for a new one of his own to replace it with.

 

He’s brushing his teeth in a clean outfit when he convinces himself that he’ll treat it like it wasn’t a big deal. It’s _not_ a big deal. He’ll act normal and Liam will forget all about it before it can even be brought up.

 

He toes on his shoes and heads for the stairs, finding Liam lounging on his couch with his own shoes on his feet and some keys in his hand.

 

“Figured I could take you,” Liam says in the type of tone that already tells Louis he’s not going to be driving himself there even if he kicks and screams.

 

Louis gives him a shrug and a, “Sure,” in response, grabs his phone, and heads for the door.

 

The doctor “ _for the famous_ ” he sees isn’t even twenty minutes from his London house, but he somehow still finds it in him to doze in and out of consciousness the entire way there. He hopes Liam doesn’t notice.

 

He tells Liam that he can do this alone, thank you, because even though it’s sweet in its own weird way, the hovering has to stop somewhere. There’s a split second where Louis thinks he’s going to protest, but it passes and Liam leaves after having Louis promise to call when he’s done.

 

Due to the exclusivity, Louis is back in the sterile-scented room within ten minutes of his arrival. He dangles his feet from the edge of the bed and twiddles his thumbs as a nervous tic while he waits.

 

A knock on the door interrupts his worrying.

 

“Hello,” a brunette lady greets him. Louis recognizes her but can’t get a name to come to mind—it starts with an L, he’s sure. Maybe an R. “I’m Dr. Rives. What are you here for today?”

 

Rives. Right. He clears his throat. “I, uh, I’ve been throwing up. It started yesterday evening, when I went for a sip of beer—” _Do you tell doctor’s about alcohol consumption?_ “—then happened again in the middle of the night. No beer that time, but I think maybe I had it too hot in my room and it got to me.”

 

She’s staring at a paper on her clipboard, following the lines with her pen. “Anything else?”

 

Louis thinks. “I don’t know if it’s related, but I have been really tired lately. Slept ‘til half one today,” he attempts to laugh lightheartedly but it comes out sounding more nervous than anything. She hums.

 

“Fatigue,” she whispers as she writes on her paper. She nods. “No fevers? Any recent changes in diet?”

 

“No and none,” he answers honestly.

 

She falters. “Excuse this next question, but have you been sexually active?”

 

Louis falters for a second, anxiety building up inside of him at what could be the reason for _that_ question. He coughs and composes himself. “Last time was a little over a month ago, maybe? And it was, uh, pretty frequent.”

 

She clicks her pen once, giving Louis a friendly smile. “I think we’ll need some tests done to draw any conclusions here. I’ll need a urine and blood sample. Any questions so far?”

 

Louis shakes his head. No questions he isn’t scared to hear the answer to, at least.

 

Her smile brightens. “Perfect. Someone will be in soon to draw your blood.” With that, she clicks her heels out of the room.

 

Louis panics as soon as he’s alone—he’s been to health clinics before, knows the protocol for testing for STDs. Jesus, if _Zayn_ has gone and given him a fucking STD on top of everything else—well. Louis will definitely burn his jumper, for one. Then maybe he’ll leak it to the papers.

 

Someone comes in with a bottle of water and a cup for Louis’ sample, and then they take his blood so seamlessly he barely feels it. He chugs the water, pisses in a cup like he’s supposed to, and waits for someone to retrieve it. Once that’s done, it’s back to silence. All Louis knows to do is plot how he’ll get Zayn back lest the results come back positive.

 

It feels like hours before Dr. Rives returns, even though Louis has been obsessively checking the clock and he knows it’s only been a maximum of fifteen minutes. “I’ll call you tomorrow with the results. Until then, just get your rest and we’ll go from there.”

 

Louis nods shortly. “Thanks,” he mumbles with a small smile and promptly heads for the door.

 

As he calls Liam to let him know it’s over and he can come pick him up, he only prays he doesn’t ask any questions.

 

♡

 

The next day is possibly the longest of Louis’ life—he’s not even sure why. It’s not like this will be terminal or untreatable, so pacing around his house with his hand glued to his phone is a waste of time. The call will come, he may or may not have an STD from his ex-bandmate, and his life will go on either way. If only his brain would understand.

 

He jumps when his phone rings at half-four, not bothering to even check the Caller ID before answering.

 

“Hello?” he whispers hastily.

 

“Hello, this is Dr. Rives. Am I speaking with Louis?”

 

Louis bites the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, it’s me.”

 

“Perfect!” she says cheerfully. “Your results are in.”

 

He listens to her joyful voice chirp over the phone for another ten minutes—a ten minutes full of how surprised she was, that the morning sickness starting so soon wasn’t as common but not rare, what he’s to expect to come in the next eight months since she would put him somewhere between four and five weeks, then more specifically what to watch out for for the next couple of days, a time and date for his follow-up appointment, and one last wish for the best of luck his way. He’s sure she says all of these things, but Louis only hears one word.

 

Pregnant.

 

He spends his first few moments after the phone call ends processing the word. He’s _pregnant_. As in a baby. His own baby. Not his mother’s that he watches grow month by month while she glows at the mere mention of the newest addition to their family, but one for him to grow and glow about himself. A baby.

 

He looks down to his abdomen with curious eyes. It feels unreal. Fake, even as he brushes his fingertips tentatively against the skin of his stomach. This is probably happening to someone else that isn’t him. It’s definitely a mix-up.

 

His next stage is acceptance. For that one, he cries, mostly. He thinks about the band, the boys, the fans. He thinks about telling his mum and sisters, then the most dreaded—their team. He’s just gonna go and turn everyone he knows against him, one by one, all because the world hates him and decided that, yes, this _is_ happening, and to _him._

 

Liam comes to the door before he has the chance to get any deeper into all the consequences he’s undoubtedly going to have with a mug of tea and a sympathetic look.

 

“Was that the doctor?” he asks, setting the mug on Louis’ bedside table.

 

“Yeah,” Louis blurts in panic, “Just a stomach bug. I’ll be fine soon.”

 

He furrows his eyebrows together. “Took them a day to tell you that?”

 

Louis shrugs. “Guess they wanted to be sure.”

 

There’s a pause where Liam sighs and takes tentative steps forward until he’s sitting at Louis’ feet. He offers him a leveling look. “You look like you’ve been crying, you didn’t start getting sick until recently, and you keep talking to us like you hate him but you slept in his sweater last night,” he lists. “Are you sure you’re taking Zayn leaving okay?”

 

Louis stares, confused. “I—what does any of that have to do with each other?”

 

“I talked to Niall and Harry,” he admits, shrugging. “We’re kind of worried about you… you know?”

 

“I _don’t_ know,” Louis answers, but then two and two starts clicking in his head. His eyes widen as he realizes—

 

“Depressed,” Liam says, and a weight seems to lift off his shoulders as soon as the word’s out there. “We thought maybe you were taking it too hard.”

 

Louis doesn’t know what to do other than purse his lips and stare pointedly at the wall. This must have been the cause of the excessive hovering, the constant check-ups, the daily texts he’d ended up getting from any one of the boys to see how he was doing. They were _worried_.

 

“God, no, I’m—” He’d have to choose his wording carefully. _Fine_ , that would be a lie. He’s definitely not fine, but he’s also not _depressed_. “That’s not what this was. And it’s not a stomach bug either.” Since that lie clearly isn’t going to work, damn it. “The doctor, she said that I’m, um. Pregnant.”

 

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Liam mumbles, eyes looking like they could bulge from the sockets like a cartoon character at any second now. “Oh my God.”

 

“Yeah. Hence the puking and the sleeping and the tears,” he explains, smiling half-heartedly. “Nothing to worry about.”

 

Liam gives him an incredulous look. “Louis, this is—this is a _big_ thing. Way bigger than we thought. Holy shit.”

 

“Not helping me stay calm, Liam,” he remarks, tone slightly biting. He sighs. “I _know_ it’s a big thing, but I just found out. I’m still… processing.”

 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “Of course you’d need to process. I’ll try and calm down.”

 

Louis hums, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. He lets out one long, deep breath and resumes his earlier train of thought. He manages to get through a whopping one scenario of telling his mum before Liam opens his mouth again.

 

“Do you need anything? You know me, Harry, and Niall will be here for whatever you need, yeah?”

 

He opens one eye to stare Liam down, but all he finds is genuine concern and sincerity so he can’t bring himself to do anything but smile. “I’m fine. As soon as I need anything, I’ll call one of you, okay? Does that soothe you?”

 

Liam’s cheeks pink up but he’s wearing a grin. “It does,” he promises. His face gets serious once again. “One more thing, then I’ll leave you be.”

 

Louis drags his lip between his teeth, then nods. “Yeah, okay. Shoot.”

 

“What about the dad?”

 

Louis’ brain literally freezes up. _Fuck_. He’s known he’s pregnant for all of an hour now, an arguably short amount of time for such a thing, but that—the dad should’ve been his first thought. The dad would be the second most affected by this, but it had somehow slipped his mind completely.

 

And he _knows_. He knows who the dad is, but he still counts it backward in his head just in case it changes the dates or magically leads him to someone else. The universe must still be voting against him, sadly, because every tiny question and calculation leads him back to possibly the worst person Louis could imagine being in this position with him right now.

 

“I didn’t mean to overstep,” Liam’s voice carries him back to the present. “Just curious, I guess. I’ll let you work it out with him yourself. Sorry.”

 

“No!” Louis blurts before Liam can carry on blaming himself when it’s Louis’ own fault for being thick. “You’re not—I just hadn’t even considered the dad up until you brought it up.”

 

Liam pauses. “So you know who it is?”

 

This is where Louis should come clean about everything from the past couple of months. Where Liam would get the shock of his life upon hearing that Zayn was the father, where he’d agree to give Louis his space but not without letting him know that he’ll have to tell Zayn. That’s what matters, at least. He knows that would be the endgame of their conversation no matter how they got there.

 

But telling Zayn sounds like the absolute worst idea, so Louis—he’s only got two options, and he’s clearly not going with the truth.

 

“No,” he lies through his teeth, “You guys were right. I took it hard when Zayn left. I fucked around the whole week after,” he adds in a shrug, “Could be any one of those guys.”

 

“Louis,” Liam says pitifully. He’s wrapping him up in a hug in seconds. It’s nice, and even if the fact that he’s doing it over Louis’ lie makes guilt rise like bile in his throat, Louis thinks he deserves a hug after the day he’s had.

 

Much sooner than he’d like, the hug is broken so he can rush to his bathroom at the first smell of Liam’s cologne.

 

He desperately hopes that the universe and the next eight months can finally give him a break.

 

♡

 

All of the boys take it surprising well.

 

Now, Louis _does_ only talk to them to give them the basics before he lets Liam take over while he goes for a nice bath, but they’re fine for what he’s there for. Shocked, maybe confused, but fine. He can’t hear Liam once he’s in his bathroom, but he’s sure they’re gossiping and worrying themselves all over again. Instead of letting guilt eat him up over it like usual, he closes his eyes and reflects.

 

He’s pregnant, for one. The father is definitely Zayn, who Louis hasn’t spoken to once in the month since he left. He can’t let him know because he isn’t even sure what he _could_ say to him in this situation if he were to want to come clean. He would go to his boys over what to do, but they only know half of this and he can’t risk having them pressure him into telling Zayn when Louis is evidently and adamantly not ready—or, worse, have them tell him themselves.

 

He sighs. He’ll live up to his reputation of being a mama’s boy and go straight to her, probably. She’s the most likely to be the least biased about telling Zayn, and that’s what Louis needs. No bias and maybe a nice, long hug from his mother.

 

The call is made first thing after he gets dressed; he was supposed to pop in for a visit with his family next week anyway, and he’s sure none of his siblings will have any objection to seeing him sooner than planned. He’ll just have to figure out how to let his mum know without causing her to fret over what’s behind his early arrival.

 

It’s surprisingly easy; he plays it cool, acts as if it’s just a case of homesickness (which isn’t a total lie), to which she promises that he can show up whenever he wants and it would be fine. “Always welcome,” were her exact words, which Louis obviously knows, but. It’s still nice to hear.

 

Liam doesn’t take too kindly to being told Louis is driving himself up to Doncaster. Louis rolls his eyes, tells him that he’s made the drive before and he’s not suddenly invalid just because he’s pregnant. When Liam still seems apprehensive, all Louis gives him is a sharp look and it’s enough to have the topic dropped.

 

Liam leaves that night; Louis packs so he can head out in the morning and promptly falls asleep by eleven.

 

When he wakes up, it’s bright outside and the clock reads 8:43. He tries to ignore the fact that he slept almost _ten fucking hours_ and instead dresses in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before grabbing his bags and tossing them in the trunk of his car. He makes a stop at the closest McDonald’s he can find for a quick breakfast, flips on the radio, and starts his drive.

 

♡

 

He’s arrived home by lunchtime, which is perfect since his mother had been cooking a nice meal in preparation of his arrival. He hasn’t had anything as nice for _ages_ , it feels like, so he’s more than excited when he steps inside and is immediately attacked by the wonderful smell.

 

“Louis?” Jay questions—he already knows she’s in the kitchen, so he peaks his head around the corner and smiles. “It’s me.”

 

His mother turns toward him, her face automatically adopting a warm smile. “Come here,” she says with open arms. This is one of the two main things Louis wanted; this trip is already going perfect.

 

He buries his face in her neck, grinning as her comforting arms wrap around his back. It only lasts a few seconds, nice and casual, but Louis enjoys it all the same. Jay pulls away with a grin. “How was your drive?”

 

Louis shrugs. “As enjoyable as three hours by myself can be.”

 

“Good, you should be hungry by now then,” she states, going back to whatever she has going on the stove. “You want to tell your sisters lunch is ready? It’ll take them another five minutes to get down here, anyway.”

 

“On it.”

 

He heads upstairs and knocks on Lottie’s door first, then Fizzy’s, receiving happy hello’s and a promise to be downstairs soon from each of them. He makes his way to the twin’s rooms next, but they’re nowhere to be found—he thinks for a moment before deciding to check the last door down the hall.

 

He finds Daisy and Phoebe inside, but he also stumbles upon Doris and Ernest. Right. He really should visit more, considering he couldn’t even remember that this was the _other_ twin’s room and often where the first set of twins would be found. He’s an awful brother.

 

“Mum’s got lunch ready,” he states. Daisy and Phoebe look up at the sound of his voice, and there’s immediately two similar grins spread across their faces. It doesn’t take but a few seconds longer for said grins to be pressed into his sides while they embrace him.

 

Maybe not an _awful_ brother, then.

 

He can’t help but let loose a smile of his own. “Hey,” he speaks softly, using one hand on each sibling to return the hug.

 

“We thought you weren’t supposed to be here until next week,” Phoebe mumbles into his stomach.

 

He pats them gently on the head with affection, smiling down at their matching faces. “Well, I came early. Is that a problem?”

 

“No!” Daisy is quick to answer. “You can always be here, whenever you want.”

 

“That’s what I like to hear,” he replies, “Now, you’ll probably wanna get downstairs before mum comes after you instead.”

 

They both disappear down the stairs in seconds. Louis laughs quietly at the sight.

 

Another tiny giggle grabs his attention. He looks between the identical cribs when the laughter continues, and the sound leads him to Doris. He tiptoes toward it, for some reason worried about noise even though it’s clear they’re both wide awake.

 

“What’s got you laughing, hmm?” He asks, reaching two hands down into her crib to pick her up. They just turned one a little over two months ago, but they’re growing babies and he doubts they’ll be in cribs much longer.

 

Doris laughs again as Louis cradles her to his chest, latching a tiny fist around the collar of his shirt. He stares down at her innocent, chubby face and for a moment, he’s stuck thinking about having a baby of his own. It’s only for a split second—Ernest screams, probably upset at his lack of attention, so Louis makes a quick 180 and smiles down at his brother. “Not forgotten about you, promise.”

 

He starts a mental list of things to remember about babies. One: loud. Two: demanding.

 

“Louis?” His mother’s voice interrupts him. By the time he manages to turn toward the doorway, she’s already there. Once she sees what he’s doing, she softens and holds out her hands for Doris. “Ernest is quite the jealous one, be best if you go ahead and grab him before he really has a fit.”

 

“Would hate to see that,” he mumbles, watching in awe as Ernest lifts his arms as a plea for Louis to pick him up. He cradles him the same way he had done with Doris, and suddenly Ernest is much calmer. He beams, satisfied.

 

“You’ve still got a lunch to eat, you know,” Jay reminds him. “Don’t make me have spent so long on a meal you’ll eat microwaved.”

 

Louis laughs. “Can’t afford to miss a home-cooked meal.”

 

He trails his mother downstairs and into the kitchen. His sisters are already seated and piling their plates; he takes one look at the scene and grins. He’s really missed being home.

 

Lunch goes well as his family takes the time to fill him in on things he already knows about due to their regular phone calls and texts, but it’s still nice to hear in person. The twins tell him about their grades (excellent), Fizzy gives him a rundown of the first party Jay had allowed her to attend (very tame, but she didn’t need to know that), while Lottie brings up her new boyfriend for what feels like the hundredth time (Louis doesn’t mind). He’s perfectly content with just sitting and listening to their stories.

 

“What about you?” Fizzy interrupts. Louis pauses mid-chew to glance at her. “Anything new?”

 

It’s a normal question to ask a family member you haven’t seen in a while, but Louis’ cheeks heat up like he’s scandalized. He knows he must have all eyes on him right now, and that means he can’t be looking suspicious.

 

“Uh,” he begins, taking longer than normal to swallow down his food as means of stalling. “Not much since we’re on break. Writing some music, a few boys’ nights. Nothing interesting.”

 

There’s a silence for a beat too long that has Louis sure he’s been found out. He braces himself for the onslaught of voices asking him why he’s lying, but instead he only hears Lottie’s voice delivering a, “You make being famous sound so _boring_.”

 

Immediately, he relaxes. That was probably the most terrifying thirty seconds of his life, and he’s only exaggerating a little.

 

“Sorry. I meant I flew from LA to Paris to Tokyo, went bar-hopping with Beyoncé, and spent every night in a hotel more luxurious than the last.” He stabs into another bite with his fork. “And that was just last week.”

 

This causes Daisy and Phoebe to laugh as if Louis is the funniest person alive, while Fizzy just smiles and Lottie sticks her tongue out at him. He’s off the hook, it seems, until his eyes land on his mother who is giving him an unconvinced stare.

 

Well. He’s sure his plans of waiting to say anything until tomorrow have just been ruined.

 

He tries not to let his nerves show on his face, instead jumping back into conversations about nothing with his siblings. His mother turns her attention to Doris and Ernest a few seconds later and Louis lets out a breath of relief. Maybe he’s safe.

 

He remains safe through the rest of lunch and through the football game Daisy and Phoebe insist he join in on (he makes a mental note to ask his doctor just how physical he could be now once he’s home). He’s safe when he sits with Fizzy after dinner to watch a few episodes of her shows while he lets Lottie give him tiny French braids down the back of his head where he hasn’t cut his hair in a little while.

 

Jay finally catches him when it’s well past nine and he’s finally helping her put a fussy Doris and tired Ernest to bed.

 

“So,” she starts simply, “What made you decide to come early, then?”

 

Louis shrugs as he pulls a blanket over Ernest’s small body. “Told you, I just missed home and I had the free time so no reason to wait.”

 

She hums. “I would’ve believed that had it not been for that deer-caught-in-headlights moment at lunch.”

 

That’s all she says and it’s making Louis slightly more nervous by the second. Louis knows better than to try and continue his tiny lie because this will be the type of treatment he gets until he comes clean. So. It looks like he’s doing this.

 

“I may have needed to talk to you about something, too,” he admits with a timid smile. “We’ll just have to make sure we’re away from any little ears first.”

 

“Let’s head outside then,” she suggests, making her way after popping her head in to each of the girls’ rooms to make sure they’re settled. She smiles when she’s satisfied with what she sees and promptly heads straight for the door that leads off into their back porch.

 

It’s getting cool outside and the only light they have is from a pair of sconces along the walls, but with a an entire floor and thick walls between them and his siblings and the nearest neighbors a good quarter mile away, it’s the most privacy they’re going to get.

 

They sit across from each other on the set of lawn chairs Louis remembers gifting her with a couple years ago. His mother is the first to speak.

 

“Are you ready to tell me now?” she asks him calmly. She’s carrying her usual comforting, happy aura but it seems like she’s making an effort to sound as tranquil and accepting as possible. Louis would be lying if he said it didn’t help.

 

He refrains from any sort of eye contact as he begins. “I’m pregnant,” he whispers, afraid to be too loud lest his volume shock her any more than the actual words themselves already would. “I _know_ that there’s precautions I should’ve taken and it was my own fault and I’m sorry that I—”

 

 “Pregnant?” she cuts him off. “You’re pregnant?”

 

“Yes,” he answers softly. He lifts his head to gauge her reaction—she’s staring at him with an open mouth but there’s not much else for him to go on. He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

 

She clasps her hands in her lap and leans toward him. “Don’t apologize to me. You know I’ll support you through whatever, it’s just—I never would’ve expected to hear those words from you for another five, ten years.”

 

He scoffs. “Well, I wasn’t planning on it any sooner myself.”

 

“Been there,” she says with a bittersweet smile. Louis doesn’t get how she’s being so cavalier about this. “Have you been to a doctor to confirm it yet?”

 

 “That’s where I found out,” he answers.

 

She’s nodding her head, staring blankly ahead as if she’s mentally sorting through it. “Did they tell you how far along?”

 

“About four weeks now.”

 

He knows what question she’s dying to ask next but is probably too afraid of the answer to actually say anything. He closes his eyes, takes a couple of deep breaths, and decides to save her the trouble.

 

“I know who the dad is,” he says evenly. She tries not to be so obvious about it, but she relaxes at the admission. “It’s Zayn.”

 

“Oh,” she mumbles and it’s like whatever amount of comfort she had gained seconds ago disappears again. See, Louis tells his mum more than he probably should. He’s clearly not going around giving her all the dirty details of his sex life, but she knows he has one (obviously) and she’d gone and figured out herself that Zayn had been an on-and-off part of it for a while. She also knows that Louis had a very confusing view on it, that the entire thing itself was confusing for all parties involved, and that it abruptly ended when Zayn left the group.

 

From all of that, she’s gathered that it’s very messy and a rather sensitive topic for Louis and he assumes it’s why none of his sisters had brought it up with him since he had shown up. He appreciates the gesture, really, but it’s basically useless now.

 

“Yeah,” he responds quietly. “He doesn’t know.”

 

“Do you want him to?” she presses.

 

“Not right now,” he rushes out, “But—I mean, I was hoping you’d be able to give me some advice. Once-single parent to currently-single soon-to-be parent.”

 

She frowns. “Obviously I won’t tell you what to do about it,” she tells him sincerely, “but I do believe you’d regret it if you didn’t tell him.”

 

Louis opens his mouth to retort, but she holds up a finger and continues. “You need to consider Zayn’s feelings, too, even if you don’t want to. Because I’m sure if you were in his position, you wouldn’t want him to keep something like this from you. And then of course, there’s the baby to think about.”

 

“I’ll tell him,” Louis quips; he isn’t much in the mood for hearing about how many big decisions he’s going to need to make. “I promise I’ll tell him at some point, okay? I don’t want to rob either of them anything, just—just not now. Not for a little bit.”

 

She’s silent after that and Louis worries that he’s offended her with his tiny outburst, but when he meets her eyes, she’s smiling. “What?”

 

“My baby is having his own baby,” she mutters. “I’m gonna be a grandparent at forty-two.”

 

Louis shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck in unease. “Sorry?” he responds, unsure.

 

She shrugs her shoulders carelessly, widening her smile as she scoots forward and puts a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up about this, okay? I’m not mad. No one will be mad.” A pause. “ _Zayn_ won’t be mad.”

 

Long after they’ve gone inside and Louis has curled up on the bed of his childhood room, the words are still lingering in his mind. He just really hopes she’s right.

 

♡

 

He stays another week on top of the one he had originally planned, and even then he only goes home because he has to get back to the real world at _some_ point.

 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay down there on your own?” His mother had asked for about the hundredth time before he left.

 

“Of course,” Louis answered as if he had any clue. It must have shown on his face because his mother seemed to look even more unsure than before. “The boys aren’t that far anyway. And if it comes to it, my doctor is only twenty minutes from my place. I promise I’ll be fine.”

 

It was an empty promise. Truthfully, he’d have loved to have his mum pack up and move down to London with him for the next few months. He still sometimes wanted it even when it was just him taking care of himself, but now that he’s got himself plus one—he’s scared. But he can’t maintain a clean conscious if he piles on anymore children to take care of when she’s already got six at home. And even if that wasn’t an issue, Louis will still inevitably have to do the single parent thing at some point. He might as well get used to it now.

 

If only the boys would get the memo.

 

“What is this, now? A rota?” he asks loudly. Harry is sitting on his doorstep with a duffle bag and a smile.

 

“Of sorts,” he answers, leaving the bag on the ground as he stands up and approaches Louis’ car. “Here, I can help get your stuff. Just go inside.”

 

Louis huffs. “I’m not about to be bossed around at my own home, Styles,” he argues. To further prove his point, he grabs the largest of his bags and pointedly stares Harry down as he carries it past him.

 

Harry rolls his eyes as he follows him inside, his giant hands carrying the rest of Louis’ bags much too easily. “God help your child,” he mutters jokingly, “Let it be born with a shit load of patience.”

 

“It’ll be born just as stubborn as its dad,” Louis replies as if it’s obvious. He heads to the kitchen for a drink—he’d stupidly only had one on hand when he started the drive earlier that day and had been too antsy to get home to stop anywhere. He only now realizes it was a dumb thing to do. “Thirsty?”

 

Thirty minutes later and Harry’s already settled himself in—he’s comfortably lounging on the couch with a Coke in one hand and the other latched onto Louis’ shoulder as he cuddles him to his side. They’re watching reruns of _Friends_ because it’s two in the afternoon on a Thursday and nothing new would be playing for another four hours at least.

 

Harry’s fingers are tapping incessantly against Louis’ skin, though, and he’d be annoyed about it if he didn’t know Harry, didn’t know that it was something Harry did when he was feeling nervous, on edge.

 

He says nothing, mostly because he’s tired and Harry is still a warm place to sleep whether he’s anxious or not, so. It’s not like Louis can hold a decent conversation when he’s feeling like this anyway, so he’ll just nap and then they can discuss when he’s more alert.

 

“Louis?”

 

Or, they’ll discuss it now. Louis sighs. “What, Harry?”

 

“The boys and I—we think we should call off the rest of the tour.”

 

 _That_ has Louis alert in two seconds flat. “You what?”

 

Harry sighs. “Think about it. It seems like the smartest idea here.”

 

Louis wants to open his mouth and call the idea stupid and irrational, but the last time he’d said that to a bandmate clearly hadn’t worked out well. So he does think it over. There was most likely no way Louis would be able to keep this whole thing hidden and still finish out the tour. Realistically, he probably only had until September at the very latest before he’d be showing to a point that he couldn’t conceal. Telling the fans just wasn’t an option Louis would even consider right now, so they were going to have to figure something out.

 

Apparently, _they_ had. As in cancelling a majority of their tour.

 

“We can’t,” Louis argues. “We can’t just cancel over half of tour over me. That’s not fair to you boys, or the fans, or the crew—”

 

Harry shakes his head. “The boys and I are fine, yeah? Wouldn’t have suggested it if we weren’t.” He sighs. “Look, there’s really no option here that works in the fans’ favor. Either we cancel it, or you perform up until you can’t, and then they deal with missing two members up on stage.”

 

Louis frowns and doesn’t dwell on the insinuation. “Three is better than none.”

 

“Maybe,” he says, “or maybe not. We don’t want to make any choice that upsets you, but come on. We’ve all been on about taking a break for months. We _need_ a break.”

 

Louis worries his lip between his teeth. “Harry, once I—” He chokes up when the thoughts suddenly rush to him, torn between screaming and crying at the realization. They’re sitting here worrying about the now, but— “Once I _have_ the kid, like. There goes my career.”

 

Harry holds him close and kisses his forehead sweetly. He’s calm. “That’s not true. Becoming a parent doesn’t mean you can’t work. It just means you can’t work as much, or that you’ll need to have a more flexible schedule. We’d figure something out.”

 

“I can’t work for basically an entire year once it’s born,” Louis continues. “I don’t wanna be in and out for that. So there’s a year, definitely gone. Not even counting what I’ll have to take off _now_.”

 

He’s panicking, he knows he’s panicking, but he can’t stop himself from panicking.

 

“Shh, Louis,” Harry whispers soothingly. “The boys and I will make sure you’re taken care of, yeah? Wouldn’t wanna try and continue the band without you, whether that means we wait one year or five.”

 

Louis betrays himself and starts to tear up. “Promise?” he asks, voice almost breaking.

 

“Promise,” Harry responds, grinning down at Louis’ nervous face. “You could always do stuff here, too. Write some lyrics, make some calls. Work with that little baby in your arms.”

 

The way Harry says it leads Louis to believe he’s thought of the same future for himself. It’s no surprise; Harry’s always been a very family-oriented man, even more so baby-crazed, and Louis wouldn’t bat an eyelash if it came out that the boy had stacks of adoption papers in his bags. Harry would probably make a better father than Louis would.

 

As quick as the thought comes, Louis swats it away. He coughs. “Yeah, well. Something to think about I suppose.”

 

Harry nods. “I’ll pretty much always be up for babysitting unless I have other plans I can’t get out of,” he admits.  “I know you said you wouldn’t want to be in and out for the first year, but a night off every once in a while wouldn’t hurt.” He smiles. “And besides, I wanna spoil it.”

 

Louis laughs whole-heartedly and drops a hand to Harry’s chest. “Sounds like someone’s trying to be my baby daddy.”

 

“If you ever need one,” Harry says with a chuckle.

 

“You’ll be the first person I call,” Louis says honestly, “To be my baby daddy or just for a babysitter, either one. May have to fight my mum over that last one, though.”

 

Harry shrugs. “I’ll share with Jay. As long as she lets me hold it for a few minutes, I’m fine.”

 

The way Harry talks about it makes butterflies rise in Louis’ stomach—his baby is going to be smothered in love as soon as it’s born. He’s already gotten offers from everyone he’s told about his pregnancy to babysit, and now one offer for a step-in baby daddy (even if it is just a joke—at least Louis thinks it is). He’s already got the boys willing to sacrifice tour for him to be able to get the proper rest and whatnot to deal with the rest of his pregnancy, too. It’s just—it’s more than he could’ve hoped for, he thinks.

 

He remembers Zayn for a split second and his mood dampens for a beat, but he shakes the thought from his head and cuddles deeper into Harry’s side.

 

“I need to go take a nap,” Louis tells him with a frown. “But I don’t want to get up.”

 

“Could sleep here,” Harry offers. “I may have to get up and have a wee first, though.”

 

Louis shakes his head; as tempting as sleeping next to somebody is, Louis wants to prove to himself that he doesn’t _need_ someone there watching him. So he’ll get up and sleep in his own bed, throw Zayn’s sweater in the wash (somehow it was still in his bed—weird), curl up against his own pillows and fall asleep without a hitch.

 

“Have your wee. I’m going to bed,” Louis tells him. With a quick, “Enjoy your nap,” thrown his way, Louis is up the stairs and back in his bedroom.

 

It dawns on him after he’s already gotten himself stripped down to his sleepwear (his boxers) and covered up just right in his comforter and sheets that he’d left Zayn’s sweater on the bed. He could throw it to the floor, right, just to have it out of his way. But that—that is just contributing to a mess and his dirty laundry is way over on the other side of the room. So. It looks like he’s stuck with it for another night.

  
He curls his knees up to his chest and falls asleep.

♡

 

Louis never liked Naughty Boy.

 

No, he never liked Shahid, because he hates to refer to someone as a stage name—one like _Naughty Boy_ of all things—in a casual conversation. His name is fucking Shahid and Louis isn’t going to address him as anything else.

 

Zayn started hanging out with him sometime last year, Louis thinks. He doesn’t know specifically because the very first time Louis had met him, he decided he didn’t care for him and since then he had ignored every time Zayn told him he was going to Shahid’s place. He just seemed like the douchey type and Louis wasn’t sure how Zayn came to the conclusion that he was good company.

 

Somehow, he had, and now Zayn’s got himself linked with some D-List music producer who layers fucking five-hundred filters on a single photo.

 

Louis can’t help himself—this grown man has been parading Zayn around like a kid who just snagged the shiniest new toy, more of an accessory than anything else. Again, Louis doesn’t know _how_ Zayn doesn’t see it, but he also doesn’t think he should care anymore.

 

 **_@Louis_Tomlinson:_ ** _Remember when you were 12 and you used to think those Mac filters for your pictures were cool haha ! Some people still do HA!_

He hits “Tweet” and thinks nothing of it. It’s just a petty comment on a social media platform that Louis is notorious for being petty on, so he doesn’t see how this one would be any different.

 

His phone is blowing up with notifications, but only one catches his eye.

 

 **_@NaughtyBoy:_ ** _@Louis_Tomlinson and some people can’t even sing.. but who’s complaining when there’s autotune eh_

 

Okay. So a petty tweet will need to turn into a petty fight. It’s clear Shahid is gunning for one, and while Louis would typically not be up for satisfying the prick, he’s feeling just bitter enough to follow through.

 

It turns into a back and forth—Louis implies that he’s doing nothing but riding Zayn’s coattails and Shahid continues to attack his voice. Déjà vu; Louis has already gone through the motions with Shahid before, for practically the same reasons, and at this point he’s more entertaining himself than anything.

 

Suddenly, Louis receives a slew of notifications directing him to Zayn’s twitter. He shrugs it off—he _has_ sort of brought Zayn into it, however indirectly it may have been, so it’s probably nothing more than some excited fans.

 

He clicks a link anyway. Like an idiot.

 

 **_@zaynmalik:_ ** _@Louis_Tomlinson remember when you had a life and stopped making bitchy comments about mine ?_

Louis reads it. Then reads it again. Then checks the username, the time stamp, the profile picture—anything that could point to this being fake. But it isn’t, of course.

 

So. Zayn sat and watched their back and forth, watched Shahid go for the things everyone already knows Louis is insecure about, and then decided his two cents would best be thrown in to basically tell Louis to fuck off? The first contact he’s had with him in, what, two months? And it’s this.

 

He spends a few minutes hammering out any sort of response he could come up with, from accusing him of turning into a self-centered twat to insults as weak as calling him a troll. Ultimately, he doesn’t reply with anything and instead heads to the bathroom because along the way his stomach had started rolling.

 

Once he’s stopped vomiting, he puts his back against the side of the tub and places a protective hand on his stomach.

 

Zayn’s done with him, fine; why can’t Louis just be done with him, too?

 

It’s nearing June—a week before their tour is set to restart, to be specific—when Louis gets a call to let him know he’s “relieved of all work-related duties” due to his _condition_ (or for “personal reasons” as the fans would hear) until further notice.

 

It’s not like Louis didn’t want to hear that, but he still feels guilty. He and the boys had talked to their team the day before about it all, and after their initial shock and panic, they had informed Louis that he’d probably be put on “maternity” leave as soon as he needed and if so he would receive a confirmation within twenty-four hours. The problem isn’t that he’s technically responsibility-free for who knows how long but that the rest of the tour was now resting solely on Harry, Liam, and Niall.

 

There was no cancelling the tour, according to their management. The three of them had made sure to assure Louis that they were fine with carrying on themselves if they had to, that they wouldn’t be mad at him, but Louis knew they wanted a break just as badly as he needed one. He couldn’t help but feel like he was being selfish.

 

Before he could dwell on it, the person on the phone informed him that the band was officially on a year-long break starting in January of the coming year.

 

That made him feel… exponentially better. It gave him the time to be there for his baby while also giving his boys the break they all deserved.

 

Niall calls him an hour or so after he got off the phone with their team, and he’s obviously happy—more so than usual.

 

“Did you hear the news yet?” Niall asks, excitement oozing from his tone. “Whole fuckin’ year to ourselves.”

 

Louis smiles, plopping down onto his couch. “Yeah, yeah. Got my phone call.”

 

“I’m gonna get to do all that shit I kept saying I was gonna do,” Niall continues, stuck in his own bubble it seems, “but never had the time for. All I’m worried about is not knowing what to do with all the free time.”

 

He’s got the same joy in his voice as a kid on Christmas morning. Louis is thankful. “Good thing I already know what I’ll be doing with mine.”

 

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. “Listen, don’t take it the wrong way, but thanks for getting knocked up,” he mumbles, “In a way, you’re to credit for this.”

 

He’s sure this is the type of thing he could get mad about—and probably would at a different time from someone else’s mouth—but he’s just so elated to hear Niall’s positivity that he can’t do anything other than smile. “All it takes for a break is having a baby. Imagine if Harry had known.”

 

Niall laughs his too-loud laugh that Louis has grown fond of over the years. “Imagine what he’ll do now that he _does_ know.”

 

The conversation digresses into more mundane things soon after—Niall informs him of his plans to go back to Ireland for a few weeks in January, Louis tells him about his plans for Taco Bell. Niall spends a good ten minutes rifling through his cabinets to find a recipe for Mexican rice that he apparently swears by, assures Louis he’ll fall in love with it. Louis is in the process of writing it down, but his reception keeps cutting in and out.

 

“Didn’t catch that again, sorry. Something wrong on your end?”

 

“No,” Niall says, his voice sounding further away as he probably checks his phone for any problems. “Just Zayn. Keeps cutting out ‘cause he’s texting.”

 

Louis halts his hand on the paper, the hand holding his phone clutching it even tighter. “Zayn?”

 

“Shit,” Niall mutters, “Shouldn’t have brought him up, I didn’t think. It’s nothing, just—”

 

He zones out. He should’ve guessed Zayn would try and keep in contact with Niall, as Niall was much too friendly, would befriend whoever it took to keep from having any enemies because he just isn’t _built_ for conflict. It shouldn’t be any surprise that he’s talking to Zayn, and yet, here Louis sits, confused.

 

“—and I already laid into him for that twitter shit. Shahid was being a cunt, he says he knows that, but—just don’t worry about what he said, okay? Doesn’t matter, he doesn’t have to matter to you. And don’t think—”

 

“Quit rambling, Nialler,” Louis interrupts, careful to keep his tone light-hearted. Niall’s freaking out and he wants to stop it. “I’m not mad, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

An audible sigh of relief. “Last thing we need is you mad or stressed or anything. Was gonna tell him that, just in case he tried to go at you again, but he doesn’t seem like he will.”

 

Louis’ heart starts pounding. “You didn’t tell him I was pregnant, right?”

 

“No,” Niall clarifies, “I wasn’t sure if you wanted him to know.”

 

“Not right now,” Louis rushes, and he’s going to have to calm himself down if he doesn’t want Niall to suspect anything. He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out. “I’m not sure about him. I’ll just work that out myself, yeah?”

 

“Got it.” Louis calms at just those two words. “Anyway, back to the recipe…”

 

The rest of the call flows nicely (something else Louis admires about Niall: he doesn’t dwell), and when Louis hangs up, it’s because his mouth is all but watering at the thought of getting Mexican.

 

He relaxes the rest of the day in preparation for his appointment tomorrow. He wanted to get a professional opinion on performing now, how much longer he should, how long he had until he would start showing to the point that he couldn’t hide it. He had grown a bit of a tummy in the past month, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t pass off as just a few extra pounds.

 

Point blank, he’s curious and he’s sure a doctor’s input would help him sleep at night.

 

The next morning, he’s sure to dress in a looser shirt because Dr. Rives had told him to prepare for an ultrasound. He’s also expecting some tests to be done and to get a better estimate on his due date; he’s jumping out of his skin with a nervous type of excitement.

 

He gets into the back almost as soon as he arrives.

 

“How are we today, Louis?” Dr. Rives questions cheerfully, a warm smile on her face.

 

“Good,” Louis answers if only because he doesn’t want to divulge into how much the Mexican he had so desperately wanted made him throw up for ten minutes that morning. “A little anxious for today.”

 

“That’s normal,” she assures him, scanning her eyes across her clipboard. “Anything you’d like to start off with?”

 

He twiddles his thumbs. “I actually did have some things to ask.”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“Touring,” he states, “I was wondering how much longer I would be able to keep at it?”

 

She takes a seat in her desk chair, scooting closer to Louis. “Exercise is good throughout pregnancy, but you won’t want to do anything that puts you at a risk for falling or anything like that. As for your vocal chords—” She does a half sort of shrug. “—that all depends on how your body reacts. Everyone has different pregnancy experiences; one of those could be a temporary voice change.”

 

 _Change?_ Louis bites his lip. “So what do I have? A month?”

 

She shrugs again. “Like I said, it depends on how your own body reacts. You’ll just have to trust yourself to know when to stop.”

 

Louis nods. Trust his instincts. He can do that. “I was also wondering if you could tell me when I’d start showing?”

 

She gives him a soft sort of stare that has him mumbling, “Depends on how my body reacts again, doesn’t it?”

 

“You could start showing tomorrow, or it could be another few months. In my experience, it usually starts to become more obvious you’re pregnant around month four or five, but that’s not definite.”

 

Louis laughs half-heartedly. “Sounds like a lot of answering to myself.”

 

“I’m confident you’ll do just fine,” she says comfortingly. “Now, are we ready for our tests?”

 

The tests all went well—Dr. Rives had informed him that all of the results pointed to a healthy baby and it was like a weight lifted off of Louis’ shoulders. She gave him an estimated due date of December 11th and sent him on his way with a nice stack of ultrasound pictures that he’s currently too amazed by to even leave the parking lot.

 

He feels like he could cry, staring at the vaguely human-shaped blob in front of him. He could, but he really wants to keep himself composed. Instead, he takes as quality of a photo-of-a-photo as he can and immediately sends it to his mother with a caption of updates on where he’s at. He receives a reply riddled with exclamation points and happy emojis.

 

Next, he opens the band’s groupchat (that hasn’t been used in _weeks_ , it looks like—they’ll have to fix that) to send something similar. The responses there range from positive comments and questions (Harry and Niall) to terrible jokes about how the baby already resembles its dad (Liam).

 

Blame it on the hormones or an unexpected bout of calmness, but all of it gives Louis a sense of everything being alright that he hasn’t felt in months. Practically everyone he needs is there for him, he’s got his job sorted out, and he’s currently not fucking up his child. That’s as perfect as he could ask for.

 

He hopes and prays that it isn’t the calm before the storm.

♡

 

He makes it to eighteen weeks before he’s decided to call it quits on the tour.

 

It’s getting easier and easier for him to get winded from doing next to nothing, meaning he has to stay more to himself throughout hours of performing which he hasn’t done _ever_. He’s taken his doctor’s advice to heart; he isn’t starting water fights on stage anymore due to his history of slipping in the aftermath. It wasn’t a problem before, nothing more than a laugh and he was on his merry way, but he didn’t have another little life to look out for before. He has to be careful.

 

At his last appointment two weeks ago, Dr. Rives had told him to expect more rapid growth in the coming weeks. At the time, she’d compared his baby’s size to an avocado, but by now Louis himself was feeling more like a watermelon.

 

The fans were already picking up on Louis’ changes in behavior, his sudden weight gain, even his frequent bathroom trips while performing. He had searched through a few theories out of curiosity, and thankfully he had yet to come across one suspecting he was pregnant. On the downside, the most popular seemed to be that he was on drugs—it claimed his bathroom trips were to go backstage for a fix, that it made him hungrier than before hence the couple of extra pounds, that he was irritable and moody when he was doped up and therefore wasn’t his regular, playful stage persona.

 

He hates not being able to say anything about it, especially now that his temporary “leave” had been announced. He hates when his twitter is flooded with tweets straight after, when #PrayForLouis is a worldwide trend. He especially hates when the first thing fans do is compare this to when Zayn had left the group, like it’s the same fucking thing. But, he reasons with himself, as far as the fans know, it could be.

 

All Louis can do is post a couple of tweets to assure them that he’s thankful for the support and that he hopes it carries on until he’s back on stage. This quiets the loudest of them as far as Louis can see and he doesn’t keep himself up with worry for an entire week afterward.

 

It only worsens once next year’s hiatus is announced.

 

That was the final nail in the coffin for the lot of them. They’re sure this is the official end of One Direction, the beginnings of a break up being seeded into their brains. All of his social media is spammed with questions from fans and a couple of bolder ones accuse him of causing it all himself with his alleged drug abuse.

 

He decides he’ll benefit from a break from his phone at that point.

 

It makes him feel awful, mostly because he isn’t sure if they’re right in one way or another. Is he going to be able to come back once he’s a parent? Will he still find it worthwhile? He knows Harry had said he and the boys wouldn’t want to come back without Louis, but who’s to say they don’t get tired of waiting? They could venture out on their own while Louis is stuck being a stay-at-home dad, and he doesn’t think he would blame them.

 

That’s where he tries to clear his mind—he doesn’t want to sound like he’s regretful over his baby, because he isn’t. He’s already sworn to himself that he’ll be a good dad, an attentive and fair one, one that will stay home as long as he needs to accomplish as much.

 

Everything else he can take as it comes.

 

♡

 

There are things Louis knows he should and shouldn’t be doing right now. For instance, he had gotten up for a snack, so he _should_ be tossing a bag of popcorn in the microwave or peeling one of the various fruits Harry had dropped off yesterday. What he is doing, what he _shouldn’t_ be doing, is listening to his television go on about celebrity gossip.

 

He isn’t able to help it. Ever since he’d been off tour, he had a lot of free time on his hands and while a good amount was spent turning a guest bedroom into a nursery, even more was spent worrying over what the fans were thinking of him now. It had been three weeks, enough time to let the news settle and start thinking more rationally, right? Surely they weren’t still on about Louis’ supposed drug habits.

 

Just as the television stops spouting about the “scandalous” pictures from Rihanna’s recent vacation, they play the “Coming Up” segment that always happens before commercials. There’s a slim chance they’ll even mention the fan speculation about Louis’ sudden absence from the band, but it’s enough to have him biting his nails in anticipation.

 

There’s something about Britney Spears, then another few clips devoted to a newcomer’s spat with paparazzi—still no Louis. He shakes his head; this is dumb, _he_ is being dumb for falling prey to it. He should turn the damn thing off and get his fucking fruit snacks before he starts having a fit on himself.

 

Just as he goes to press the button to power it down, he catches a glimpse of the screen and hears the name “Zayn Malik” from the mouth of the overenthusiastic voice-over lady. He should _definitely_ turn it off now, but his curiosity is piqued so he instead turns up the volume and listens as he flits to the kitchen to grab some food.

 

“… _and despite a lack of new music—we all have our fingers crossed that it’s bound to come soon—Zayn Malik is still making headlines by being spotted with a mystery blonde bombshell, who is most definitely not his newly ex-fiancé Perrie Edwards of Little Mix._ ”

Louis frowns as he feels something stir in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t feel the need to run to the trash can as usual because this isn’t morning sickness. No, it’s worse—Louis is _jealous_.

 

Not of Perrie, Perrie’s a friend despite the whole situation there, but he’s jealous of some nameless blonde girl hanging out with a guy Louis is ninety-five percent sure he wants nothing to do with.

 

He looks to the TV to see if there’s anything accompanying it. There are pictures, low-quality and grainy, and all he can make out is what’s definitely Zayn’s grinning face with a bundle of blonde hair obscuring whoever he’s smiling at.

 

They’re innocent by celebrity standards, but Louis can’t help but feel it isn’t fair. He doesn’t care if this is a genuine caught-in-the-act set of fan pictures, if Zayn really took whoever the fuck home with him, but the point is that he _can_. He’s free to go out to pull, get drunk, go home and light up a blunt—all things Louis now can’t do because of him.

 

He’s out living his life like he isn’t going to be a parent in a few months. Given he doesn’t _know_ he’s going to be, but still. Louis is hormonal and content to be looking for every reason to be upset.

 

He reacts on impulse instead of logic, opening up a new conversation on his phone and typing in Zayn’s number from memory.

 

He locates the ultrasound picture he’d gotten only a week ago from his last appointment and attaches it, oh-so cleverly captions it, “congratulations, twat” and hits send. That will surely put a damper on any fun evening he was planning.

 

His mistake is already made by the time he realizes it, but he still finds himself relentlessly trying to take it back within seconds of getting the daunting “Delivered” message underneath it. That was probably the dirtiest, pettiest reason he’s ever had behind doing anything—which is really saying something—and he already knew karma was going to backhand him across the face as soon as the fucking message was opened.

 

Then again, he never did explicitly say that it was an ultrasound of Louis’ baby, or that Zayn was the father. Maybe Louis didn’t just monumentally fuck up. Maybe, just maybe, Zayn will be thick about it.

 

(Louis knows it’s a hopeless expectation as soon as he thinks it.)

 

He wants to curl up into a ball and never be seen again, if it’s possible. Build a moat around his house and become a hermit if that’s what it takes to get out of this whole thing. Try and discover for himself if the Earth is really round and fall flat off the surface.

 

None of those things are going to happen, of course. All that does happen is Louis stares at his phone like he’s afraid it will explode any second now, and then he makes an extremely bold move and actually picks it up.

 

He’s always heard a watched pot never boils, so maybe if he keeps his eyes on his phone, the same will apply.

 

He’s too ashamed to call his mother, but none of the boys know about the Zayn aspect of his baby, so he’s out of luck on getting any advice.

 

 _Shit_. The boys don’t know— _Zayn_ will know now, and he still talks to Niall, most likely Liam, too, he could say something to them. Then they’ll know that the idiot they’ve been supportive of the past few months lied to them all about a detail as massive as this one, and then they’ll probably hate him.  He’s fucked.

 

Harry, though—Zayn still isn’t back in Harry’s good graces, so maybe Harry won’t hate him for leaving Zayn out of it. He’s one of the more understanding people Louis knows, and Louis is pretty sure he’s already in love with his baby, so. Harry’s a safe bet.

 

He considers trying to call him, but they’re in the American leg of the tour and he doesn’t want to risk waking him up, knowing from personal experience how valuable sleep was before performing. What would he even _say_ anyway? Admit to being a liar? Tell him he wasn’t even considering telling Zayn anytime soon, that he only knew now because Louis had a moment of jealousy over a set of unimportant pictures? That his intentions were to ruin his good time?

 

Louis hates himself just thinking back on all of it.

 

His phone beeps, and it’s like all the dramatic scenes in movies—time stops, his heart literally beats out of his chest like a cartoon character, and the only noise he can make out in the entirety of his house is his text tone.

 

He can’t keep his fingers from trembling as he hurriedly grabs his phone and places it face down in his lap. Leaning back in his seat, he closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. This is fine. He’s just psyching himself out. _He’s fine._

 

He unlocks his screen and scans his eyes over the screen. It’s just showing the number because Louis had long since deleted Zayn’s contact from his phone, but Louis knows it’s definitely, without a doubt him.

 

_are you fucking with me ?_

Are you fucking with me.

 

That’s it. That’s all he has to say and Louis doesn’t know if he feels more angry or relieved.

 

He slides his phone to his coffee table, grabs the closest blanket he can, curls himself up into a ball, and promptly begins planning how to spend the rest of his life like this.


	2. Part Two

Tapping, all Louis can hear is tapping. Loud tapping. Which is really annoying when you’re trying to stay asleep.

 

He closes his eyes and buries his face further into his arm, but the action only causes the noise to be even _louder_. He sighs and lifts himself up, fully prepared to find the source of the awful sound and put a stop to it at whatever cost so he can finally get back to bed.

 

He blinks open his eyes and frowns—so not his bed, but the couch. He’s in his lounge and he wonders why until the night before comes crashing to the forefront of his mind.

 

There’s nothing he wants more than to resume his position and never get up again, but the tapping actually seems to be a knocking from his door. As in someone thought it’d be a good idea to come to Louis’ at—he looks at the clock—8:00 A.M. Well, they may not know it, but whoever is on the other side of the fucking door is about to receive a load of well-deserved glares and an icy tone because Louis is so not in the mood for socializing that it’s sad.

 

“I’m coming,” he croaks, voice gone scratchy from sleep. He grabs his blanket and wraps it around himself since it’s feeling kind of chilly; it’s not like he’s worried about looking presentable for whatever idiot is at his door. Far from it, actually.

 

But the knocking has stopped at least, so he begrudgingly makes his way to the door.

 

He tries to think of something smart to say to whomever it is, to make sure they know he isn’t pleased to have been woken up so early in his off time, but once the door is actually open, every thought flies from his brain.

 

Zayn is wearing what appears to be pajamas—a t-shirt decorated with holes and a pair of sweat pants—and his eyes look tired. A part of Louis feels for him, but another larger part is still pretty pissed off at him for a variety of reasons.

 

“Why the fuck are you at my house?” he questions harshly.

 

Zayn doesn’t even flinch. “Were you serious? Last night? Was that real?”

 

Louis doesn’t have to think to know what he’s talking about. He’ll still takes his sweet time in answering, though, because he isn’t exactly sure what he wants to say. He coughs in effort to clear his throat up, maybe sound more firm. “I don’t know that you want me to answer that.”

 

“Louis,” Zayn blanches, “I didn’t drive up here because I don’t want you to answer that.”

 

“I don’t know why you drove up here at all.” Louis averts the question. “Think it’s been made pretty clear we don’t want to be around each other, so you can fuck off.”

 

A defeated sigh. “Please, Louis. I don’t want to fight right now. Just answer me.”

 

Louis would normally be all for an argument, especially _this_ argument, but Zayn looks at his wit’s end. Louis decides he owes him the truth anyway, since he had kept this from him for the past five months. He’ll find the time to be angry at him later.

 

“Yes,” he states slowly, being sure to choose his next words carefully. “I was serious.”

 

Zayn’s eyes widen, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he often does when he’s trying not to give himself away. “You’re pregnant?”

 

Louis rolls his eyes. As if that isn’t what he just said. “Yeah. I’m up the spout, knocked up. Got a bun in the oven.”

 

He watches Zayn’s throat as he swallows. “And it—it’s mine?”

 

He nods shortly. “It’s yours.”

 

A hand reaches up to stroke pensively at his chin, a mumbled, “Holy shit,” falling from his lips. No more words come out of his mouth as he stares at nothing, and Louis decides he’s likely trying to process everything. Louis understands the feeling better than anyone, but he’s tired and his ankles are kind of sore and he’d very much enjoy sitting down right now.

 

He walks back inside without closing the door behind himself half in hopes that Zayn takes the hint and follows and half hoping he just turns around and leaves. Soon enough, he hears the click of his door being shut and some tentative footsteps following his trail to the couch.

 

Zayn sits on one end while Louis opts for the other. There’s enough distance between them for Louis to prop his legs up on the middle cushion so he does, and he drops the blanket in the process. Automatically, Zayn’s eyes are glued to his previously hidden stomach. Louis curls one arm around himself and grimaces; there was no denying he was getting bigger, but he had thought it still wasn’t _that_ noticeable. Zayn’s staring has him suddenly self conscious.

 

“Either open your mouth or get out,” Louis bites once the staring has gone on too long for his own comfort.

 

Zayn blinks a few times in quick succession, glances up at Louis, and licks his lips. “I’m sorry,” he begins, voice still thick with sleep but noticeably trying to sound more alert. “For a lot of stuff. Most everything from the past couple of months.”

 

Louis huffs indignantly. “Maybe that would’ve sounded nicer a couple of months ago.”

 

Now, it’s heading toward a fight for them if Louis has any say in it. He’s sure of it.

 

Instead of a fire igniting in him, Zayn simply lowers his head. “Can you please try to work with me, Lou?”

 

That… that gets Louis even angrier. “Why? You think ‘cause I’m having your kid, that that suddenly means you deserve for me to be civil?”

 

“No,” Zayn mumbles with a sympathetic shake of his head, “Not at all. You just don’t need to be getting stressed and upset right now, yeah?”

 

Louis rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a babysitter. Not yet, anyway,” he says bitterly. “You know, I faired just fine without you up until now. I’m sure I can handle the last few months without you telling me what I do and don’t need to be doing.”

 

“Mhmm,” Zayn agrees, impassive. “I’m not trying to say you can’t,” he pauses, seeming to go over his next words very, very carefully. “Only that would be better if we didn’t _fight_ right now. We can just… talk.”

 

“ _Talk_ ,” Louis enunciates, flicking his eyes up to meet Zayn’s for a split second before rolling them. “Fine. If we’re going to ‘just talk,’ I’ll start by saying that you’ve been a colossal piece of shit ever since _this_ ,” he gestures to his stomach, “was made, and the only reason you’re here right now is because this whole pregnant thing made me have a moment of weakness.”

 

Zayn nods, rubbing his wrist with his thumb. “You should know that I still stand by my decision to leave the band, but everything else I… regret, mostly.” He grimaces, glancing up at Louis with a soft expression. “And that I wish you had told me about this sooner because I really would’ve liked to help you out. Maybe as an apology.”

 

Louis narrows his eyes. “Then you should know that you’ll be here _explicitly_ for the sake of the baby,” he begins, “because it deserves both of its parents and I won’t get in the way of that so long as you don’t fuck it up.” He drags out a pause. “To be clear, that means that _I_ don’t need you.”

 

“Of course,” Zayn agrees with a hesitant smile. Louis can tell he’s purposefully treading lightly, and he wonders idly if he should take it down a notch. Eventually, he shakes his head and changes the subject as a compromise with himself.

 

“Being uncharacteristically calm for a new dad,” he mumbles, trying to seem nonchalant by staring at his own hands. It probably isn’t working.

 

Zayn shrugs. “I had a lot of time to freak out when I got a picture of an ultrasound at one in the morning,” he explains, “and then even more when I drove for a good couple of hours trying to decide whether or not it was a good idea to come here. Or, you know, it’s also possible I’m still in shock. Or too tired to process it.”

 

Louis nods. “It took me a minute when I found out, too. Didn’t believe it. Told Liam it was a stomach bug.”

 

It’s like a switch flips in Zayn’s brain, and he’s suddenly wide awake. “Liam?” he asks frantically. “Does Liam know?”

 

Louis frowns in worry—but Zayn, he’s taken the rest of this fairly well, so maybe he’s in the clear. “He does. All of the boys do. Couldn’t really keep that from them with a tour happening.”

 

“That’s why you left,” Zayn says, as if it’s all starting to click into place in his mind. Louis still grimaces at his word choice. “Isn’t it? I asked around and they wouldn’t tell me shit—why the fuck didn’t they say anything to me about this?”

 

He bites the inside of his cheek.  “I told them not to, and they don’t really know you have anything to do with it,” he cuts in quickly, not wanting the blame placed somewhere it didn’t belong.

 

Zayn’s expression is confused, from the furrow of his eyebrows to the pout of his lips. “What does that even _mean_?”

 

“It means that I told them I didn’t know who the dad was,” he blurts. “Because I knew they’d want me to tell you and I wasn’t ready to so I lied, and now I’m going to have to come clean about it.”

 

“Louis,” Zayn mutters as if he’s going to go off on his own tangent, but then he shakes his head and averts his gaze to the floor. “This is just— _so much._ ”

 

He suddenly feels very bad—not for the difficulty he was giving Zayn, or the harsh tone he’d adapted, but for dumping every fucked bit of this on him at once. He had been through the same thing, finding out about his baby by his ex-bandmate the same day he had to let Liam know, and his mum, Harry and Niall so soon after. He should’ve been more considerate when he went about this. Put more thought into it than a picture sent out of spite.

 

For that, he is sorry, underneath the little sparks of malice still clouding his brain.

 

“I’ll tell them,” he says gently. “I knew I was going to have to at some point, anyway. They’ll probably be too shocked to be angry yet.”

 

“My mum,” Zayn responds gravely. “My dad. My sisters, my—shit, the _label_. I’ve gotta tell everyone that I’m—I’m having a _baby_.”

 

He seems to finally be on the verge of a full blown panic attack (understandably) but Louis still can’t help but notice how his entire countenance seems to go soft when the word baby falls from his mouth. Despite everything, Louis instinctively wants to be able to calm him down. An idea strikes Louis and he decides to execute it before he loses the courage to.

 

A small intake of breath and he scoots closer. “It wasn’t as bad for me as I thought it would be,” he confesses. “Once you give them a little bit to get comfortable with the idea, it kind of works itself out. There’s not much a label can do besides suck it up,” he says, though he isn’t very positive it’s right. Sure, his own people couldn’t do anything considering he _couldn’t_ hide it and still work, but Zayn isn’t in his position. He doesn’t know what they’ll suggest, but this is about calming him down. He can keep that little tidbit to himself for now.

 

“I just don’t know.” He pulls his lip into his mouth and drags it between his teeth. Before he can worry his lips enough to draw blood, Louis extends his hand toward him and motions for Zayn to give him his own. “Come on.”

 

Tentatively, one of Zayn’s hands come to rest in Louis’ open palm. Louis doesn’t say anything as he brings Zayn’s tattooed hand to rest on his stomach. Before he can psych himself out, he bites the inside of his cheek and begins, "This is all you really need to worry about right now, yeah? Everything else will happen and be over with but you’ll be stuck with this for life.”

 

Just as he suspected, Zayn melts. Good, this is good. He can work with this.

 

“’s your baby,” he says through a yawn. “Maybe he’ll have your hair.”

 

“He?” Zayn questions quickly, taking a moment from staring at his tummy to glance up at Louis’ face. “It’s a boy?”

 

Louis shrugs and reaches for a pillow to prop behind his back. “I don’t know. I told the doctor I didn’t want to know yet. Just guessing.”

 

Zayn hums. “I’d like a boy. Or a girl.”

 

“Mm,” Louis agrees, as if that wasn’t an extremely open statement. “Me, too.”

 

A silence falls on them after—that, or Louis is just so close to the brink of sleep that he doesn’t hear any more words. He really doesn’t want to nap right now, not when Zayn’s here for the first time in practically _forever_ , and not when he’s still a breath away from freaking out. But Zayn did interrupt his sleep, so he’s understandably tired and he’s sure he can use being pregnant as an excuse somewhere in there.

 

He’s not sure if Zayn will decide to stick around if he does catch some sleep, and he’s not sure if he even wants him to or not. But, he reminds himself, it’ll thankfully be Zayn’s decision.

 

His thoughts dwindle into quiet nothings as he tries to nap his problems away.

 

♡

 

He wakes up to his mind already working a mile a minute, and he’s frantically trying to rub away his blurred vision to check for any sight of Zayn.

 

Ten rushed seconds is all he decides he needs. Ten rushed seconds with no sign of Zayn has Louis jumping to the conclusion that he left because leaving is apparently all he knows how to do. It’s much too soon after waking up to be getting worked up but getting worked up is apparently all _Louis_ knows how to do.

 

And he needs to piss. _And_ he’s dripping in sweat from the blanket he doesn’t remember draping over himself. And he’s really quite hungry. Perfect.

 

He hurries to the bathroom to fix the simplest problem first. Once done, he strips off his sweatshirt and frowns at how it sticks to his skin. He feels gross and grimy, knows it’ll only be solved by a shower, but then there are also his hunger troubles. So. He decides to split the difference; it looks like he’ll just be doing breakfast in his boxers.

 

Two eggs are retrieved from his fridge, half because his fuzzy, morning brain doesn’t hold any cooking skill for something more difficult and half because his regular, fully alert brain would barely be able to do anything more anyway. 

 

He makes it as quick as he can without feeding himself raw egg and he’s pleased when he’s got his food plated within ten minutes, give or take. The kitchen is hot from the stove now, though, and he’s still experiencing his hot flash, so it seems like a good day for ten-thirty AM breakfast on the porch.

 

The air feels much cooler and fresher as soon as he slides the door open and he indulges himself in a nice deep breath. Much better.

 

“You’re up,” he hears, and he literally clutches a hand to his heart and gasps.

 

Zayn is still here, and he’s on Louis’ porch having a smoke.

 

Louis, on the other hand, is struggling to regain his balance while also keeping his food from tumbling out of his grip, and he’s in his underwear.

 

He gives him an unimpressed look. “You’re still at my house,” he states, monotone.

 

Zayn shrugs, cigarette waving from side to side, just _teasing_ Louis. He’d like a smoke right now. “I didn’t want to just, you know, _leave_ ,” he mumbles.

 

“Again,” Louis interjects, taking a seat and carefully setting his plate on the small table.

 

Zayn nods. “Again,” he agrees, nonplussed. “So I stayed. Made some calls, had a smoke to calm down. I’ll go now if you want.”

 

Louis stabs into a bite with a fork and shovels it into his mouth, not bothering himself with manners. He wants Zayn to decide whether or not he stays, because Louis doesn’t want to be stuck either leading him to believe he hates him by kicking him out or making him think things are okay by letting him stay. He’s pretty confused on his own feelings here and it’d just be much easier if Zayn would do this bit himself.

 

He looks up at him, and Zayn stares back in question.

 

The decision is definitely Louis’.

 

“Go home,” he finally utters through a sigh. “Talk to your family, your label, and whoever else, just—sort yourself out. My door will be open whenever you want to show up again.”

 

“I want to be here,” Zayn is quick to add. “For, like, everything. If I _can_ be a part of it, then I _want_ to be a part of it.”

 

Louis shakes his head, smiling dryly as he grabs another bite. “Yeah. Well, go give yourself a few days to think about that precious solo career of yours on the line, too. Then we’ll see if you’ve changed your mind.”

 

He stares at Zayn’s face as he swallows the bite unceremoniously. Zayn’s jaw is set, just like it always is when Louis is aiming to push his buttons, and Louis waits for the inevitable explosion that never comes.

 

Zayn moves to stand. “I’m sure I’ll be saying the same thing,” he says, then gives a quick smile followed by a nod. “See you soon, Louis.”

 

Louis’ stomach does somersaults as he watches him go.

 

♡

 

Telling the boys about Zayn wasn’t something Louis was sure would be appropriate over the phone. Was there some sort of rule book for telling people about your baby daddy’s identity? Did it pertain to special situations such as his own? Could he not just wait it out and come clean via the birth certificate?

 

His fingers hover over his phone screen. A group chat seemed like the least suitable place for news like this which is precisely why he chooses it—that, and the fact that it’s the quickest way to get the news out to all of them, and you can’t yell over text. It’s where he’s been sending all other baby updates and this could technically be classified as another baby update. So really, this was only fitting.

 

He types up a good five different announcements before he finally settles on the simplest, most effective one he can think of and hopes they don’t think it’s a joke.

 

_how ironic is it that the first baby in one direction is fathered by the first person to leave one direction?_

There’s going to be a frenzy as soon as the message is seen, he’s sure. Probably a flood of questions and exclamation points, many capitalizations of words that shouldn’t be capitalized, requests for phone calls and visits. And Louis will deal with those soon, he promises, but for now he’s going to mute the conversation and indulge himself in a call to his mother.

 

It’s only on the second ring when she answers. “Hello?”

 

They exchange pleasantries for a few minutes before the words, “So, what’s up with you?” finally leave her mouth and Louis nearly explodes with the things he’s been holding in.

 

“I had this really, _really_ petty moment and it resulted in Zayn finding out?” he begins, “So, like, that’s a thing, now.”

 

Instantly, her tone is as maternal as ever. “Oh, baby. How did it go?”

 

Louis frowns. “Well, I wasn’t clear when I let the cat out of the bag so he just showed up this morning asking me about it… and I told him, obviously. He acts like he wants to be an active part of it but I’m not counting on it.”

 

There’s a pause and Louis is sure he hears the quiet sound of a sigh. “Don’t dwell on it,” she advises. “No use in that.”

 

“I’m not trying to,” he promises, biting his lip. “I’m just nervous.”

 

That’s exactly what it is, and probably what it has been ever since Zayn showed up at his door. He’s nervous—nervous that Zayn will realize he finally has the shiny new career he wanted and he doesn’t have to bail on it over this, that anyone and everyone he tells will urge him to “be smart” about this and leave Louis in the dust. It’s not that he doesn’t think he could do it on his own, because if anything Louis would work twice as hard to prove he can, but there’s a part of him that really doesn’t want it to come to that when he has the option of giving his child both of its parents.

 

He doesn’t admit any of these things aloud, though, so his mother probably figures he’s just got the jitters. “It’ll be fine,” she says. “I remember when I was pregnant with the twins, he would help me out a lot if you weren’t around. Told him once that he’d make for a good father one day and his face lit up like a Christmas tree.”

 

Louis remembers that, because Zayn had been proper chuffed, made sure Louis heard about what his mother had to say to him. He’s pretty sure they fucked that night afterward, but—details.

 

“And now he’s got a baby with your son.” He laughs airily. “Fate’s cruel.”

 

“No choice but to let it be now,” she chimes. “Seriously, though. I trust it’ll work out for you, boo.”

 

Louis really loves his mum for a lot of reasons and he’s been a bit obsessive with telling her ever since he was a kid. But right now, he just wants to drape his twenty-three year old body in her lap like he’s ten and wrap her up in a hug to mumble it all over again.

 

“Thanks,” he settles for instead. “I love you.”

 

“Love you, too,” she replies simply but meaningfully. “I’ll still be down next weekend for a visit, okay?”

 

“Okay.” Louis nods. “I’ll see you then.”

 

“See you,” she replies, and then the line goes dead.

 

He pulls the phone away from his ear, and he knows what to expect now. He knows he’s inevitably going to have questions to answer, phone calls to make, apologies to give.

 

The group chat is exactly as he expected. It looks like Niall was the first to catch on, followed by a wary Liam and then a disbelieving Harry. And it looks like once they realized Louis wasn’t responding, they discussed it amongst themselves.

 

Sighing, Louis types up a new message.

 

_yes i meant zayn, no he didn’t know, no I’m not pulling one on you guys. I wasn’t dealing with it the best when I figured out it was his so I lied, you’re free to be mad about that but I would really appreciate it if you talk any shit about me behind my back, thanks_

 

Liam’s the first to reply, promising he wasn’t mad and that no shit talking would be coming from his mouth. Niall agrees, while Harry just says he isn’t mad so much as he is shocked.

 

He answers their questions as they come, tells them Zayn just found out right before they did, that he was acting like he was going to be a part of it. Their questions grow more daring, though—whose last name would the baby take, if they would co-parent, if Zayn was going to take any time off to _be_ a co-parent. Louis, though—he doesn’t know the answer to any of those right now, and he tells the boys as much before he types his goodbyes so he can sit and dwell on them.

 

It’s fine. Zayn will call him back, or make the drive back to his house, and they’ll discuss these things, and everything will be okay.

 

Maybe if he keeps thinking it, it will have no choice but to come true.

 

♡

 

It’s been an entire four days and Zayn still hasn’t shown.

 

Louis isn’t sure what to think. Was more than four days needed to process something like this, or did Zayn actually think it through and decide to say fuck it? For all the talk Louis had done about figuring Zayn wouldn’t want be a part of it, now that he’s _really_ starting to believe he won’t come back around, he’s scared.

 

He had been keeping everyone out of his house, just in case Zayn was going to randomly pop up again. He was trying to think of him, give them some privacy to talk it out whenever he came back, and Zayn couldn’t even bother with a text.

 

His mother would be here tomorrow, and Louis wasn’t going to send her off to afford Zayn a courtesy that he couldn’t even try to meet.

 

And if he didn’t show, his mother would be here coddle him through it.

 

Louis still keeps his fingers crossed.

 

♡

 

“So my mum sent some stuff—like this, my old baby blanket, see? She said my grandma made it and it’s still held up nicely after twenty-two years so I think it’d be a good idea to use. And this, this was a toy I had, Mum said I couldn’t be found without it up until I was, like, _three_. It’s still in good condition though, she made sure to take care of it. But, yeah, obviously this stuff can’t be used right now. I mean, it doesn’t _have_ to be used at all, if you don’t want. Just trying to help, I guess.”

 

It’s nine in the morning, and two minutes ago Louis had gone to his door after a few knocks under the assumption that it was one of the boys with food or movies, or maybe his mother who had discovered she had forgotten something when she left yesterday.

 

Instead, he was met with the sight of an energetic Zayn—Zayn, who hadn’t given him more than a hello before delving right into his enthusiastic talk about baby stuff. For three straight minutes. At nine in the morning.

 

Part of Louis is really, _really_ happy because he finally showed, but another part of him is positively pissed off for the same reason.

 

“For future reference,” Louis begins, clearing his throat so he can sound at least somewhat intimidating, “when I say my door is open, a heads up would still be very much appreciated. And if you could also stop waking me up, that would be great.”

 

He rubs at his eyes to get rid of the sleep; when he opens them back up again, he’s met with the sight of Zayn frowning like a puppy. Jesus. “I’m sorry. I just—I have the stuff outside? I really wanted to get it down here and get back to you. The baby. You and the baby.”

 

Louis surveys him suspiciously, decides he must be telling the truth because Zayn wouldn’t be willing to wake up this early for a lie. He grins. “Didn’t have an aneurism when you said the B word that time.”

 

Zayn shrugs, still a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I had to say it a lot the past couple of days.”

 

Louis hums his acknowledgement. “How did all of it go?”

 

A grin stretches across Zayn’s face, as bright as Louis can remember seeing it be in ages. “Got scolded a _lot_ , but Mum’s happy and Dad’s about the same. My sisters kept going on about being aunties.”

 

The corners of Louis’ lips twitch up into a smirk. “Nothing to say about the slut you knocked up?”

 

He hears Zayn sigh. “Don’t say that,” he mumbles, “And they’re happy it’s you.”

 

“Happy it’s me because they wanted it to be me, or happy because it’s me and not someone else?” Louis pauses, shakes his head. “Don’t say anything to that, actually. That was a dumb thing to ask. I don’t know why I did.”

 

He starts to feel embarrassed, because he’s sure that came off either desperate or crazy and he isn’t sure one is any better than the other. He’s just _curious_ , damn it, because he’s been quietly gunning for the approval of Zayn’s family for as long as he can remember and he especially doesn’t want to have them hating him now when the newest member of their family will be half him. For all he knows, they’re just glad Zayn is having a baby with him because he isn’t a random one night stand or a girlfriend gone gold-digger.

 

Zayn must pick up on how he’s feeling because he’s Zayn and Louis is pretty sure that’s his super power.

 

“My family likes you,” he assures him, all soft voices and peaceful eyes. Louis feels much calmer. Maybe hypnosis is Zayn’s super power, actually. “You _know_ my sisters do, and my parents trust my judgment. Mum’s always liked you.”

 

Louis grunts. He’s heard that line a million times before, and yet he still struggles to believe it every time.

 

He can hear Zayn’s frown when he says, “’s why she sent all the stuff. She would’ve kept it at home if it had been anyone else.”

 

_That_ had to be an exaggeration, Louis knows, because he’s sure Trisha would’ve been ten times as giddy if a positive pregnancy test had come from a long-term partner. Or any partner. Or maybe even if it had just been mystery blonde girl from all of the gossip outlets.

 

Nonetheless, Louis doesn’t utter another word about it. “Send her my thanks for it, by the way. I’m sure it’ll be useful.”

 

Zayn nods, lips drawn tight as if this has just turned to serious business. “Of course we’ll still have more shopping to do. Mum gave me tips on that. I looked at some stuff online, too. Have you decided on a theme for the nursery?”

 

A theme for the nursery. Louis hadn’t done anything more for the nursery besides clear out a few boxes of junk in the guest room closest to his bedroom and silently declare it the baby’s room. So far it was just the same soft blue it had been when Louis bought the place because he had as much artistic ability as a pole and he’d rather have his baby’s room bland than ugly.

 

“I didn’t,” he confesses, prepares for the look he’s sure to get from Zayn. “I figured I’d just do something simple. Sailboats, the ocean. The jungle or something.”

 

He chances a glance toward Zayn, expecting disappointment or exasperation, but what he’s met with is a shy smile. Zayn’s lips stay upturned as he finally takes a seat and reaches into the drawstring bag he dragged to his feet. Out comes what appears to be a binder.

 

“What is that, your baby planning book? That sounds like something you would have,” Louis teases. He’s only slightly worried that that’s actually what it is.

 

“Hush,” Zayn mumbles firmly. He opens the book up on his lap, and now Louis can see that it’s not a binder, but a sketchbook. He catches a glimpse of a cartoon skeleton and a smudged dragon before Zayn’s flipping the pages to the very back. Here, Louis is met with the sight of a lineup of bubbly superheroes, a row of suns and clouds, and the words BABY NAME scrawled in a pop-art, comic-book style.

 

“Just ideas,” Zayn clarifies, and he’s scanning his eyes over what he’s shown judgingly; Louis knows he’s notorious for being his own worst critic and is probably finding a thousand and one things wrong with drawings that would no doubt beat Louis’ famous penises drawn on napkins. “I wasn’t going to say anything if you had already started, but since you haven’t. Well.”

 

Louis looks through the rest of the page—a mermaid surrounded by seashells, a happy puppy with its tongue nearly hitting the ground, a frog on a lily pad—and is immediately hit with a rush of relief that he’s got Zayn on hand for this. His child would’ve been doomed to stencils and stickers otherwise.

 

It’s definitely not his typical stuff either, which makes it all the more heartwarming because it means Zayn probably put a lot of thought into making things that were kid-friendly. Louis is in awe.

 

“This is sweet,” he says appreciatively. “It’ll be more unique this way, yeah? Just one problem.”

 

Zayn doesn’t blink. “What?”

 

Louis points to the superheroes. “That’s Batman beside the Hulk,” he says, and when Zayn continues to stare on obliviously, “The Hulk is Marvel, and Batman is DC. That’s inaccurate.”

 

Zayn’s lips finally get out of the tight line they’d been set in and turn up into the smallest of smiles. “That’s to teach acceptance at a young age.”

 

Louis huffs. “It’ll also teach that it’s okay to be inaccurate, but I’ll let the artist have his vision.”

 

The room doesn’t feel as tense and icy as it did the last time Zayn was here, but rather serene now. More like how it used to be. Zayn smiles easily and closes his sketchbook. “So I’m doing the nursery, then? You’re okay with that?”

 

Louis is actually praying for it. “First door to the right of my bedroom.”

 

Zayn grins so wide and blindingly bright that Louis is sure he’s going to make his jaw ache, but he’s not going to tease him any more for now. No, the mood is calm and Louis is too, and he doesn’t want to disturb that.

 

A few minutes later finds Louis cooking for two in his kitchen while Zayn unloads things from the car he had driven up. Louis catches a glimpse of him every time he passes by the kitchen to go up the stairs with a box to leave in the baby’s room, and every time he wonders just how much stuff he meant when he said _some_. He won’t complain, though—between the things he’d received from his mother and now Trisha as well, he’s sure they won’t have much shopping to do.

 

Zayn finally stops passing by at some point and Louis predicts he’ll find him settled in on the couch like he had seen many a times before. The timing is good, too, because Louis has just finished two pairs of pancakes—unburned for the first time, shockingly—and he can finally relax in his own lounge with Zayn like he’s quietly wanted for months. He’ll just have to pretend like he isn’t the same person who made him feel angry and upset and abandoned a short six months ago. Simple.

 

Zayn has the television turned to a cartoon that Louis can’t quite tell if it’s anime or just an animation, but Zayn’s enthralled so Louis doesn’t bother asking. He sets the plate on the coffee table in front of him and takes his own seat in the chair to his left. He half-watches the show out the corner of his eye, but he’s also half-watching Zayn if only because he can.

 

Once a commercial break hits, it becomes achingly obvious how uncomfortable the room is and it’s all Louis has in himself not to jump out of his skin. See, he doesn’t fair well with silences, especially not the awkward ones, and it’s _killing_ him to keep still and wait it out.

 

“So.” His head shoots up as he hears Zayn speak, and he’s happy to be getting the silence out of the way, _finally_. “How’s life been?”

 

Louis’ face drops. “Small talk?” he questions incredulously. Fucking _small talk_. That’s just—that’s not what Louis deserves. Sure, he isn’t in any position to be pouring his heart out to Zayn, but he’ll be damned if he lets them slip into asking each other how the weather was if they’re going to be bringing an actual human into the world together. That’s… no. Louis won’t have it.

 

Zayn’s eyebrows furrow, his forehead creasing up in confusion. “Sorry?”

 

“I’m not an old high school buddy or the family members you only see on the holidays,” Louis begins, argument on the tip of his tongue. “I’m currently giving your child life, shelter, the whole lot. Much more important than small talk.”

 

“Of course,” Zayn agrees. Louis isn’t sure if he’s more thankful for his acquiescence or upset at what feels like the mockery. “How’s that going?”

 

Ultimately, Louis lets the teasing go because this is a question he’s always excited to answer— excited to get out his complaints so he can stop feeling like a bad parent for harboring any bad feelings over being woken up every two hours and peeing nonstop. Maybe now he can stop talking his mother’s ear off about it, or keep from making a quick phone call with Liam take an entire hour out of his day just because Louis needs the comforting.

 

Louis contemplates where to begin. “It likes the gross healthy stuff Harry brings by, so I have to eat that. Which I’ll say tears my stomach up on principle alone,” he nods, “I swear I can cry at the drop of a hat nowadays, too. Fucking annoying. And God, the _feet_ on this thing. I’ll wake up one night and it’ll have just kicked its way out.”

 

Zayn lets out an acknowledging hum. “It kicks a lot?”

 

“Like it’s training for FIFA,” Louis admits. It isn’t even that much of an exaggeration. “It’s doing it right now.”

 

Louis can tell by the look that comes over Zayn’s face what he wants, because it’s the same face he got from Harry a couple of weeks ago when they had been on the subject of the baby kicking. “You can touch.”

 

Zayn looks shocked, and for a moment Louis actually worries that he had read him wrong and has just made it entirely awkward by his assumption. Only for a moment, though, because then Zayn’s scooting closer with a tentative, outstretched hand. It’s precious in a way that Louis can’t put his finger on.

 

He goes for the lower left side of his tummy, touches so gently that Louis jumps. “Sorry,” he mumbles to Zayn’s nervous expression, “Tickles.”

 

“Oh.” Zayn lets out an anxious laugh. “Sorry.”

 

Louis lets out a low noise of agreement but stays silent otherwise; he doesn’t want to spook Zayn anymore than he already is. _Calm_.

 

Whatever show Zayn was watching has long since returned from its commercial break, but he’s become so positively distracted by what Louis is offering up to let his eyes take even a second to glance back at the television. He keeps his focus trained on Louis’ stomach, determined, and waits. And waits. And waits.

 

The baby isn’t kicking there is the problem. No, its feet are planted right above Louis’ gross belly button where Zayn’s hands currently aren’t.

 

“Here.” Louis reaches for Zayn’s wrist, clasps two fingers around it and drags it into position. “There. Feel it now?”

 

Zayn becomes entranced the second he feels the little flutter beneath his palm, Louis assumes, because he’s quiet. Much like how Louis reacted the first time he felt a kick, but with fewer tears and more composure.

 

“That’s sick,” he finally lets out, eyes sparkling in awe and lips turned up at the corners in a smile. Louis is happy he can give him this, even if it is something this small and unceremonious. But. Zayn seems to be more than content and that’s what matters.

 

“Imagine feeling it from the inside,” he says, suddenly very eager to tell him about it, feeling as if he’s sharing a secret or a super power. Zayn’s captivated. “Like—imagine if someone punched you, but that someone has tiny hands and they’re inside your stomach.”

 

“So like having a baby inside of you,” Zayn blanches.

 

Louis makes a face. “I was embellishing to make it sound cooler. But yeah.”

 

A genuine grin graces Zayn’s lips. “I think it’s pretty fucking cool either way.”

 

“Shut up. Eat your breakfast and watch your cartoons.”

 

Thankfully, Zayn does as he’s told.

 

♡

 

They develop a routine that starts the following Monday when Zayn comes by with a load of paints and brushes and his sketchbook.

 

He’s taking the nursery very, _very_ seriously, because most days he disappears up the stairs for three hours at a time before Louis finally decides to go and bring him down for food. Sometimes he just brings a plate up to him. Most times he brings his own as well and sits down in a chair while he plays Netflix from his tablet. He’s usually ignoring whatever he’s supposed to be watching in favor of watching Zayn paint.

 

They had agreed on an ocean-themed room because Louis read that blue was a calming color for children and it meant less work pinned on Zayn if he didn’t have to redo the walls.  He’s been taking his sweet time with everything as is and Louis realizes it’s likely to be near his unborn baby longer if anyone, but Louis kind of hopes he dawdles around for him, too.

 

This is how it’s been for an entire week. He comes in early, Louis leaves him be until he comes up with lunch, and then Zayn works and Louis watches while the noise from whatever Louis has chosen to watch keeps the room from being silent.

 

Louis is going to talk to him today, though. Mostly because he’s had a question lingering at the back of his brain ever since Zayn first showed up at his house those weeks ago.

 

“Why did you call me bitchy?” he blurts—no build-up, no softening the blow, _nothing_. He almost wants to smack himself in the mouth.

 

Zayn flinches, pauses mid-starfish, and then resumes his work like Louis hadn’t just made the room awkward. Louis worries he’s going to ignore him, but he doesn’t get the chance to open his mouth again before Zayn’s moving his own.

 

“Many answers to that one,” he says calmly, still facing the wall and not Louis. “Mostly because I was mad that you wouldn’t take my calls.”

 

Louis huffs. “That doesn’t make me bitchy,” he argues. “And that’s no excuse.”

 

Zayn sighs. “It’s not. It was a dick move. Niall made sure I understood that, just in case I didn’t get it myself.”

 

“Good,” Louis quips.

 

Finally, the paintbrush in Zayn’s hand lands in the tray by his feet. He turns toward Louis and scoots forward enough that his back isn’t touching the wall when he crosses his legs. Louis moves his tablet from his lap and crosses his arms, resting them on top of his stomach as if to remind Zayn that there’s a good, living reason he’s not one he needs to cross at the moment. Zayn’s eyes flick down at the movement, but his face remains steely.

 

“Why did you decide that texting me a picture of a sonogram and calling me a twat was the best way to go about telling me about the baby?”

 

Louis narrows his eyes, calculating his best options to figure out how to answer. “I didn’t think it was the best,” he says truthfully. “See, I didn’t know how I was going to go about telling you. But then I saw you with some girl on E!, and I was still pretty pissed at you, so I just. Did that.”

 

Zayn’s lips twitch up into a smile. “You were jealous,” he guesses, but it comes out as more of a statement than anything. Louis scoffs, but there’s nothing he can say because Zayn is kind of right. “So you were going to tell me?”

 

The question catches Louis off-guard. “Of course,” he says much too quickly. He coughs. “I mean, yeah. I didn’t know _how_ I was going to, but I _was_ going to.”

 

Zayn hums. “Huh.”

 

Louis frowns. “Are you implying I wouldn’t have?”

 

It’s obvious when Zayn looks at him that that’s exactly what he’d been thinking. He attempts to shrug it off. “I mean, you waited this long. Wouldn’t have taken much to finish it out without me.”

 

The way the words come out sound less accusatory and more worried. Less angry, more nervous. Zayn was actually worried that Louis wouldn’t have told him. Louis bites his lip. “No way would I have kept quiet. I would’ve gotten tired of not dragging you down with me at some point.”

 

A small smile makes its way to Zayn’s face. Louis can’t help but mirror the action. “I don’t feel dragged down.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Right. Because you didn’t have to sacrifice your body. Or give up the best foods, weed, and casual sex.”

 

Zayn made a face. “Sorry about that. But if it makes you feel better, it’s been more food and weed than sex lately,” he admits.

 

But sex isn’t something Louis really wants to be discussing with Zayn right now, because he’s literally to the point of getting hard at the right kind of breeze and nightly wanking as is. He doesn’t need to go and pop a boner in front of him just because he’s had to go sexless for a couple of months, even if it has been its own quiet type of torture.

 

“Right, well, slightly veering on the same subject,” he begins, “You just trust I wasn’t having a sex life outside of you when this—” He gestures to his stomach. “—was made?”

 

At that, Zayn gets a look like this is something he’s thought about before. “I do,” he answers firmly. “Trust you, that is.”

 

It must show all over his face that Louis is curious, because in the next second, Zayn’s elaborating. “I definitely know I met my end of the… _requirements_ to make a baby,” he says lewdly. “Plus I _know_ you, Louis. You may do all sorts of stupid shit for attention, but you wouldn’t tell me you were having my kid if it wasn’t true.”

 

Louis bites the inside of his cheek and nods. Well. He wasn’t wrong there.

 

“And,” he continues in a much less serious tone, “you can just know that if I ever were to find out you did, I would never speak to you again.”

 

It’s a poor excuse for a joke if Louis has ever heard one, definitely not the type of thing he should laugh at, but Zayn is smiling so openly at him that Louis does it anyway.

 

“I wouldn’t count on getting rid of me any time soon,” he states honestly.

 

“Not planning to,” he confirms, picking up his discarded brush and turning to face the wall once again.

 

Louis grins, appeased, and picks up his tablet to resume his non-watching of Netflix while his eyes remain stoic on Zayn’s hands as he paints.

 

♡

 

Louis’ boys are still on tour, and he misses them terribly.

 

They’ve begun to call every other day, usually the one phone shared between the three of them with the speaker function. It makes Louis feel better that they’re still going to the trouble to make him feel included on the tour even from home.

 

It typically starts out with a nice in-depth description of the most recent show. Niall’s wiped out a mere one time in comparison to Harry’s three, while Liam remained adamant that he’d stayed upright every show despite the videos spread on Twitter proving otherwise. Niall even tells him about how he ran into a fan in the streets of Montreal who had asked him to send Louis her love and a request to make sure he’s better soon. Louis is so damned emotional that he cries about it and so loudly that there’s no question about whether or not he’s doing it.

 

Now that the Zayn news has had its time to sink in, they don’t shy away from asking how things are going in that department. “Nice,” Louis usually says with a hint of a smile. “Really nice.”

 

It’s clear they want more details—especially Harry, whose reply is always a loud, inquisitive hum that Louis ignores—but Louis isn’t quite willing to give them up yet. What he’s got going with Zayn still feels so fragile that one wrong move could ruin it and Louis isn’t going to risk that.

 

He does want to tell them, though. He wants to gossip like he used to with his sisters, tell his boys that Zayn spends two hours painting something that seems to only need a half of one just to stick around longer, that he’s showing up as early as eight in the morning when his old principle was sleep past noon every chance you get. He wants to tell them that he’s been annoyingly considerate toward Louis and the baby, that he likes to feel his stomach every time Louis allows.

 

He really wants to tell them that Zayn doesn’t make his house feel uncomfortable or uneasy, but cozy and welcoming. Maybe they could talk the sense into him that’s _clearly_ slipping right through his fingers.

 

But. “Nice,” is all he ever says.

 

They all accept it in favor of moving on to the debate of who should be godfather.

 

“I could give you three good reasons right now as to why I should be godfather,” Harry started one night, high on the energy that only comes from being fresh out of a concert—Louis can hear it in his tone. And the way his footsteps are still echoing through the receiver because he can’t seem to keep still.

 

“Wait, like the movie?” Liam questions.

 

“No, like me, the rightful godparent,” Niall interjects.

 

“Oh,” Liam responds. “I think I want to be it.”

 

It sparks an argument every fucking time, and if Louis didn’t love it so much he would’ve told them that the honor of godfather was already split equally between the three of them, and probably Stan. He won’t put a stop to the entertainment just yet, though, because their reasoning grows increasingly ridiculous as the time passes.

 

There’s also enough claims to miss Louis that he believes they genuinely do, and knowing it keeps him sane even while he’s stuck on almost-house-arrest.

 

Just under two months and they’ll be back from tour, and there’s already an array of promises for dinner—“Zayn’s invited,” Niall was sure to butt in—and presents.

 

All Louis has to do is survive eight weeks of incessant kicking, gross food, constant headaches, and a libido the size of Mt. Everest.

 

Maybe, _just_ _maybe_ , he won’t die of frustration first.

 

♡

 

 

Two full pages of notebook paper covered in baby names, and they can’t agree on a single one.

 

His last appointment was a couple of days ago, at the awkward twenty-seven week mark because Zayn just couldn’t wait to join Louis on his first one yet and thus talked him into going back early, and the doctor had been able to get a clear look at what they now know to be their baby boy. Louis cried, and Zayn maintained that he only cried because Louis did even though Louis could plainly see how emotional he was about it all on his own.

 

The first few hours after the sex was announced was spent with Louis making the phone call to his family and sending the text to the band while Zayn got his mother on the line. Once everyone was caught up, they were left with similar looks of contentment in the silence of Louis’ lounge until Zayn opened his mouth.

 

“So what about a name?”

 

That question was much harder to answer than Louis could’ve imagined.

 

Names could apparently have ages, he learned. Some sounded cute for a baby or a toddler but then much too childish for an older guy and vice versa. It was tedious work, making sure whatever they chose was in the nice middle ground of names for all ages.

 

And then there were the meanings and origins. Louis already assured Zayn that he would be glad to let their baby have a name with a more cultural descent for him, but Zayn was quick to cut in that he wouldn’t be picky about where the name came from so long as it sounded right. Louis still made an effort to google _Pakistani names_ and wrote down a few he liked, most of which Zayn outright shot down.

 

“We could do something, like, character-related. Like Wade, for Wade Wilson. Or Peter. Or Clark.”

 

Louis scrunches his nose up in distaste. “Wade sounds the best out of those, and that’s a red flag.”

 

Zayn frowns. “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe not superheroes, then? Maybe we could call him Shaggy.”

 

“Scooby-Doo or the singer?” Louis asks, before he realizes that that sounds like he’s _actually_ considering cursing his child with a name like Shaggy. “Wait. Doesn’t matter.”

 

Zayn grins. “Tupac or Biggie?” he asks.

 

Louis glares at him. “Biggie, but that’s irrelevant because we aren’t naming a baby _Biggie_.”

 

“Fine, fine, no more song artists,” he relents. “How about regular artists, then? We could do Donnie, short for Donatello. Like the artist. And the ninja turtle. Or New Kids on the Block, but that’s still a singer I suppose...”

 

Louis isn’t at all shy about the eye roll he has to offer. “If that name goes down on the certificate, yours comes off,” he says firmly. But somehow, Zayn’s idiotic idea has actually given Louis one of his own. “Okay, so like, think about this when I say it?”

 

Curious, Zayn nods.

 

“I like Leonardo. Like the artist and the ninja turtle and Leonardo DiCaprio. See, we can call him Leo while he’s a kid, and then when he gets older and wants to sound more up-himself, he could start going by Leonardo.”

 

Zayn rubs a hand over his chin. “I don’t hate that. Actually, I think I like it.”

 

“Sick,” Louis mumbles excitedly, scrawling _Leonardo_ at the top of the page and going over it a few times to make sure it stands out. He rests his palm on top of his stomach and smiles. “You just might be little Leo.”

 

Zayn takes his own touching as an invitation and moves to sit beside Louis on the couch, placing his own hand a few inches from Louis’. Pleased, Louis starts humming to himself and lets his head hit the back of the couch while his eyes slip closed.

 

Zayn pipes in, “You know, we’ll still need a middle name.”

 

“Shh,” Louis quiets him, waving a hand dismissively in his direction. “We have time. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

 

Zayn doesn’t respond verbally but lets his other hand join the first to rub soothingly along Louis’ stomach. It’s nice. Nice enough that Louis could probably fall asleep.

 

Soon enough, his mind shuts down.

 

He sleeps. And rests. And sleeps.

 

It feels like it’s been a maximum half hour when he comes back to himself, but the sky he remembers being bright and white last time he saw it is now gloomy and dark. He wonders where Zayn is so he can yell at him for letting him sleep so late; right before he makes a move to get up, he notices a figure-eight pattern being drawn into his side.

 

“I bet it’s gross in there,” Zayn says softly. “Like, you don’t know what gross is yet but one day you will and I’m sure you’ll think this was gross.”

 

Louis raises a brow. Who the fuck is Zayn talking to? Louis? His imaginary friend? A fly?

 

“There’s got to be all sorts of weird stuff in there. But I bet you like it right now, ha. Nasty. You can be what you want, though. I’d prefer clean, but I’ll still love you if you’re nasty. Promise.” A pause. “I mean, I already think you’re pretty fucking cool. All I expect from you is to, like, be alive. That’s all I want. Simple, really.”

 

His brain starts leaning more and more toward imaginary friend as each word tumbles from Zayn’s mouth, but then his fingers resume the patterns drawn into his stomach and Louis gets it.

 

“No _way_ you’re giving my stomach more attention than you’ve been giving me.”

 

He glances down at Zayn, whose cheeks have gone pink. “It was for the baby,” he objects, sitting up so his head is next to Louis’ and not his abdomen. “I thought you were asleep.”

 

Louis grunts. “I was. Then I got this massive stiffy that just won’t flag, and some weirdo was talking to my stomach.”

 

“The _baby_ ,” Zayn sighs out, “I was talking to the baby.”

 

“Which is in my stomach,” he corrects, laughing to himself. “Which is right above that boner I was talking about.”

 

Sadly, they’re on two different trains of thought, it seems. His boner is only getting worse the more he brings it up. He’s not even sure _why_ he brought it up, except he kind of is, and he knows exactly where he’s going to steer the conversation.

 

“It’s your house.” Zayn shrugs, leaning further away from Louis and resting on the arm rest. “You can go take care of it. Don’t have to stop on account of me.”

 

He puts on a nice, exaggerated pout and mumbles, “You were already there; you could’ve fixed it.”

 

Zayn’s eyes dart to Louis in an instant. “Are you asking me to?”

 

Louis shrugs. “Wanking gets old after the first few months.” He puts a gentle hand on Zayn’s thigh and grins. “Promise there would be something in return.”

 

Zayn chews the inside of his cheek, and Louis waits. There’s no yes, but no disagreement either. Just silence, all except for the sound of Louis slowly going insane from being so disgracefully hard.

 

He’s much too impatient to let Zayn keep up the quiet. “Come on. Don’t have to think so hard about a yes or no type of offer.”

 

Still, Zayn remains quizzical. “I’m trying to decide whether it’s a great idea or a really, really terrible one.”

 

Once he’s heard those few words, it’s easy for Louis to work through them in his brain. He grins. “It’s a great idea to please me and a terrible one to keep me waiting while I’ve got a hard-on.”

 

There’s an obvious pause where Zayn is looking at Louis with some sort of fucking _smirk_ that’s both cocky and endearing. Louis knows then that Zayn’s answer was always going to be yes, but that he somehow thought it would be funny to mess with him first. What a dick. “C’mon.”

 

If Louis didn’t feel like his teenage self again with all of these sudden and constant attacks of being unbearably horny, he would’ve made sure to turn the tables and have Zayn pulled off the pedestal he felt he was currently on. But of course, his brain has told him that Zayn’s brief show of arrogance is a really fucking attractive thing that’s going to cause both premature ejaculation and his death.

 

Louis kisses him hard and fast, causing the awkward clanking of teeth when he doesn’t bother caring about anything except getting his mouth on him. Zayn doesn’t act like he minds, moves his lips just as fervently while a hand comes around to cup Louis’ bum, and _Christ,_ does it feel good.

 

He feels like a starved man, probably because he is—sex-starved, at least, for much too long and it’s like he’s back to fifteen-year-old Louis coming at the hands of whatever boy he deemed pretty enough to drag him to restroom between classes.

 

A hand starts to grope right over the obscene bulge of Louis’ joggers and it’s all Louis has in him not to burst right then and there. He can’t hold back the single strangled moan that finds its way out of his mouth, and he’s past the point of caring what Zayn hears. He’s heard practically every variation of every sex noise Louis has to offer anyway.

 

While Zayn’s right hand keeps up the work on his cock, his left comes to rest on the dip of Louis’ back as he starts to ever-so gently ease him into lying down. Louis goes willingly, decides at that moment that he’d probably try to maintain a headstand if that’s what position Zayn wanted him in.

 

Things are so much better once he’s down; Zayn sadly removes his hand but leaves one leg between Louis’ thighs in its place, careful to avoid his stomach. He then maneuvers himself up beside Louis’ body and begins to leave an array of kisses and love bites up the column of his neck. Louis moans carelessly and subconsciously grinds up into Zayn’s leg at the action.

 

“Still my sweet boy, hm?” Zayn questions softly, running a few fingers through Louis’ fringe. There’s a barely-there press of lips right on the underside of Louis’ jaw that’s so faint, it drives him crazy. He lets out his loudest groan thus far and prays Zayn will take pity. He feels Zayn’s lips turn up into a grin against the skin of his neck. “There you go.”

 

Louis keeps grinding shamelessly into Zayn’s leg like an animal while Zayn keeps showering him with kisses and praises that only bring him closer to the edge. It’s on one well-timed thrust and a particularly rough bite to his collarbone that Louis finally and embarrassingly comes in his pants.

 

He moans and writhes his way through it, focuses on the way Zayn’s _still_ delivering feather-light kisses on whatever available piece of skin he can find. It’s not enough yet way too much, but it’s also exactly what Louis needs.

 

Louis feels incredibly grateful to Zayn in that moment, and it’s all because he made him come like he already has so many times before. He feels like a mess.

 

With the need to show his gratitude buzzing underneath his skin, Louis murmurs, “Gonna fix you now,” and promptly begins kissing Zayn’s perfect mouth again.

 

There’s a quiet, breathless laugh that causes Louis to pause his movements and level Zayn with a confused look. Zayn glances down at him, all soft and sweet eyes that are a complete one-eighty from the boner Louis feels pressed against his side. “I didn’t do that because I was banking on getting something in return.”

 

Louis can only stare at him, flicking his gaze from Zayn’s eyes to his lips and back. He shakes his head. “Well, I promised it, didn’t I?”

 

“Already did enough just letting me see you,” Zayn assures him. His tone is oozing comfort and it’s so effortlessly putting Louis at ease. “You can resume your nap, yeah?”

 

He had felt energized waking up from his nap, but it seems like his orgasm his drained him all over again. He doesn’t want to admit that to Zayn, though. “I could let you go bare again.”

 

Zayn’s breath hitches so minutely that if Louis wasn’t so close to his chest he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Louis grins. “You wanna, don’t you?”

 

“Nap,” Zayn says, attempting to sound firm but the word comes out weak. Louis _knows_ he could press him and have him giving in in minutes, but for some reason Zayn’s wanting to hold out on it and Louis is begrudgingly going to respect that.

 

“Fine,” he concedes, lays flat on his back to stare at the ceiling and sigh as dramatically as possible. “Offer stays on the table, though.”

 

Louis catches Zayn glancing at the coffee table out the corner of his eye. “I’ll leave it there for now.”

 

If Louis had the energy, he would tell Zayn that he wasn’t funny in the slightest, that his jokes were stale, that he was one sentence away from having the proposition revoked.

 

He gently slaps his side instead and hopes he gets the message.

 

♡

 

He should’ve known something was up the moment he asked when his boys would be back as it was their last night of tour and Niall giggled into the receiver.

 

“Soon,” he had said excitedly. “Not tomorrow! Definitely not tomorrow. Maybe by Tuesday.”

 

There was an indecipherable noise from Harry and a, “ _Idiot_ ,” from Liam in the background, and Louis decided then that it meant they would definitely be here tomorrow and had wanted it to be a surprise. It was a sweet gesture and Louis didn’t want them to feel like the whole thing was ruined.

 

“I’ll count on Tuesday,” he mumbled, trying to _really_ sound like he meant it, and that was that.

 

It didn’t matter in the end, because when he walked down his stairs on Monday morning to find the room full of pastel balloons and _It’s a boy!_ banners strung along the walls, he was surprised. Lottie had her hands in Harry’s hair while Liam watched with an amused expression. Doris and Ernest were clinging to his mother, who was talking animatedly to Trisha by the entry to the kitchen. Lastly, Louis’ eyes found Zayn, who was sitting Indian-style on the floor across from Niall with Phoebe and Daisy on either side of them.

 

He would like to say his first instinct was to make himself known, or to fit himself effortlessly into the scene somehow, but of course it all has him tearing up.

 

Harry is the one to notice him; he opens his arms wide and smiles even wider, happily exclaiming, “Louis!”

 

It catches everyone’s attention, and soon enough all eyes are on him. Everyone’s smiling and giving him thumbs up’s, and Louis can see the moment they pick up on the fact that he’s _crying_.

 

“Oh,” his mother says pitifully, making her way over to the bottom of the stairs after she passes off Ernest to Trisha and Doris to Lottie. She smiles easily, rubs her thumbs along his cheekbones to wipe the dampness away. Louis shakes his head and laughs awkwardly, grabbing her wrists and easing them from his face. “I’m fine. Just got surprised is all.”

 

Jay grins. “That’s the point, boo. It is your surprise shower, after all.”

 

He gives her a nod and continues to make his way into the lounge, hoping he hasn’t ruined the mood with his impromptu tears. Everyone seems at ease, aside from Doris who begins screeching at the top of her lungs when Louis tries to pass her without acknowledging her presence.

 

He plops down beside Lottie, opens his hands invitingly towards his baby sister. She goes willingly, her screams stopping as soon as his eyes are on her.

 

“She’s going to be demanding,” Liam comments from the arm chair with a soft smile.

 

Lottie huffs. “Already is.”

 

He dedicates a solid five minutes to holding as much of a conversation as he could with a one-year-old, and by then, the conversations is back in full swing. It’s filling his house with the kind of background noise Louis wishes he had a lot of the time when he’s alone in such a large place.

 

With everyone distracted from him, he decides it’s the perfect time to take a better look around the room. He glances quickly from person to person, but he can’t help when his eyes linger on Zayn’s form. He’s still on the ground, still with Daisy and Phoebe, but now the girls are squirming and giggling happily about whatever he’s just done.

 

It gives Louis a nice warm feeling from his toes to the tips of his ears, and he figures he’ll be content just to watch them for as long as he can get away with.

 

Doris leans against his stomach and lets out an indifferent noise before she closes her eyes. Louis strokes through her hair comfortingly and watches as Zayn pokes a hand into the girls’ sides, causing them to giggle and squirm away while he pursues them.

 

This goes on for an estimated five entire minutes before Zayn must feel someone watching him, because he turns around abruptly and catches Louis’ eye. Louis wasn’t expecting it so he can only think to give a half-assed smile, not wanting to seem cold but not wanting to seem like he was getting pleasure from staring at him even if he technically was. Zayn frowns and brings the girl into his sides and whispers something to them that has them quickly making their way to Louis.

 

Shit. Zayn probably thought he was jealous or something. He sighs and plasters on a smile anyway—they are still his sisters, after all, and he’ll always be happy to see them.

 

“Hi,” Phoebe speaks first. She leans her elbows on the arm of the couch. “We missed you.”

 

Daisy rests on her knees by his feet. “Mum said you can’t visit us until you have your baby.”

 

Louis shrugs his shoulders. “Harder to drive like this,” he explains simply. “I’d probably be annoying, too. Feels like I’m always whining about something or another anymore.”

 

He glances around the room—Zayn is off with Trisha and Ernest now, but he imagines the enthusiastic nod he would be giving if he were here right now.

 

“We can take care of you!” Phoebe interjects excitedly. “We took care of mum when she was having the twins, and she said we did a good job. We could help you, too.”

 

“Yeah. We even cooked her things sometimes,” Daisy adds.

 

Louis grins, bursting with love for his family. He tries to refrain from crying _again_. “I’m sure you would be perfect helpers, but you’ve got school to worry about, don’t you? The baby will live here anyway, and I’ve already got Zayn to do most of my bidding.”

 

Daisy hums. “He’s nice. He knows how to play. Not play like Lottie or mum, but the fun way. Like you.”

 

“Good,” Louis says, trying not to let it show how such a simple admittance has him practically swooning. “Somebody’s gotta keep you girls in line until I can get back to doing it myself.”

 

It’s then that Fizzy pops her head out of the kitchen and announces to the room that everything’s ready since Louis’ here now, and that everyone can come help themselves. Louis sees all three of Zayn’s sisters hovering behind her and makes a note to talk to them as soon as he gets his chance.

 

His mother comes for Doris to help get her a plate. Once his lap is child-free, Louis makes to get up and start towards whatever snacks they’ve put out himself, but Zayn catches him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

 

“Sit,” he says softly, giving Louis a smile. “I’ve got yours.”

 

Louis considers arguing that he doesn’t need bossing around, that he’s not helpless, that his tastes are different practically every day anymore and Zayn won’t know what to get, but the thought of sitting and being served beats it all out. He shrugs. “Okay, Captain.”

 

It doesn’t take long at all for Zayn to return with a plate—or two. But one is empty. Louis looks at him, confused. “Two plates?”

 

Zayn smiles. “This one is your food,” he says and extends the full plate toward Louis, who accepts it graciously. “And this one is for anything I picked up that you don’t like or want,” he finishes proudly, as if he’s so satisfied with himself for the idea. His entire countenance is pleased, and it brings a genuine smile to Louis’ face.

 

He reaches for the cupcake, begins unwrapping it as quickly as his fingers will allow. “Smart,” he compliments. “Though this is looking like sweets for the most part, so I don’t know if anything will make it there to be honest.”

 

“There is some fruit that Harry brought, and a few foods my mum’s made that you haven’t tried before.”

 

Louis hums and examines the plate more thoroughly to find the things Zayn’s talking about. He looks up at Zayn with a grin. “Well, maybe the baby will inherit your quick thinking.”

 

Zayn positively beams.

 

Once Zayn’s gone and gotten his own plate, the two of them sit and eat in relative silence. He discovers that he’s quite the fan of Trisha’s cooking and makes a mental note to see if he can swindle some recipes out of her later.

 

People make their way to Louis as he eats, only two or three at a time, to congratulate he and Zayn and wish them luck. Fizzy gets there first, apologizes for missing his entrance and promises she’s going to be the best aunt the baby will have. Zayn’s sisters follow suit; Waliyha gives him a hug the way she had ever since they first met, and Doniya and Safaa ask to feel his stomach. (Zayn watches them very closely after Louis says yes. Louis rolls his eyes.) He gets nervous when he sees Harry approach them because last he heard, Harry was still upset with Zayn, but Harry only smiles and requests that he be on the list of people to call as soon as the labor starts. Louis then starts thinking about _labor_ and all the scariness it entails and frowns.

 

Trisha is one of the last, but she’s looking bright and chipper as she greets them. Louis hadn’t had the chance to face her since getting pregnant and he’s almost worried of what she’s thinking or what she’ll say. Louis was worried that all of her nice gestures thus far had been for Zayn and for her grandchild, that she only considered Louis to be the one carrying it and that was that. He’s paranoid, he knows, because Trisha has never been anything but nice to him, but the nerves still build as she approaches.

 

Zayn hugs her as soon as she makes it over, and she surprises Louis by going in to hug him right after. He reciprocates, of course, and hopes his shock doesn’t show. “You look much different from the last time I saw you,” she jokes.

 

Louis looks to Zayn, who only offers him a smile and a nod as if to say _go on_. Louis plasters a smile of his own on his face. “It’s been a wild few months.”

 

“Babies always are,” she says sweetly, takes a seat in the fold out chair Niall had left behind when he came to chat with them earlier. “You seem to be handling it well by what Zayn passes on.”

 

Louis relaxes at the words, even gives a genuine chuckle. “He helps with a lot of it. Has plenty of patience.”

 

Trisha hums, nodding to herself. “He always did with his sisters. Well, when they were young. Once they got to the age where they could annoy him, he started to try laying down the law.”

 

He imagines it and finds himself torn between laughing and being charmed by his own make-believe antics of a teenage Zayn. Before he can get too deep into it, Zayn is turning so he’s facing his mother and mumbling, “Party’s not about _me_ , Mum.”

 

“It’s about the baby, yeah,” she agrees, shrugging. “Sorry. Just, I’m watching my baby have a baby and—no, you know what? I’ll spare you the lecture. You’ll get it when this one’s showing up on your doorstep telling you you’ve got a grandchild coming.”

 

“Let ‘im out the womb first,” Zayn mutters petulantly.

 

Louis’ head spins.

 

Trisha sighs, clapping Louis lightly on the shoulder. “Well. I’ll leave you alone now, Louis. Think those boys are going crazy about getting you to open the gifts.”

 

She leaves after Louis gives her a polite smile and a thank you. As soon as she’s gone, Liam is making his way over with a box wrapped in pastel blues and greens and pinks.

 

The gifts are stacked in front of him as everyone in the room gathers round to watch he and Zayn open them up. Everything is what he’d expect from each gifter—Harry gives them a tiny pair of boots, Niall a set of tiny jerseys from a couple of places they toured, and Liam a Batman onesie paired with an entire set of similarly-themed baby-silverware. Their families hit the nail on the head with _everything_ , and every gift he opens puts a smile on his face.

 

Somewhere throughout the unwrapping process, Zayn’s arm ends up around the couch behind Louis’ back, and the other hand rests on his thigh. It makes the scene feel that much cozier, but it also makes him uneasy.

 

An hour later and the festivities are over. The boys are all going to visit their families within the next few days since the break is officially on, so they all head out after the right amount of hugs are given and promises to be kept up to date are made. His mother leaves soon after because the smaller twins are getting fussy and the bigger twins are antsy. All that’s left then is Trisha and Zayn’s sisters; they’re sliding their coats on when Trisha stops with a shout of, “Oh!”

 

“Yeah?” Zayn questions.

 

“This is from your father,” she says, handing him an envelope. “He’s sorry he couldn’t make it today, but work wouldn’t let him out in time. He promises to be here as soon as he gets a chance.”

 

Louis watches as a look of joy spreads across Zayn’s face. He sets the envelope on the closest surface he sees. “Tell him I say thanks, and I’m looking forward to seeing him.”

 

Louis hums. “Let him know that’s from _both_ of us.”

 

She nods and grabs her purse, giving them each one last hug before going to join the girls in the car.

 

The house is back to being empty and eerily silent, and Louis is back to the unsettling feeling he’s been having off and on all night.

 

“That was perfect,” he says, still up in his dreamy, happy state. Louis is utterly jealous. “We’ll have to put this stuff up soon.”

 

One look at him and Louis is seeing a kid on Christmas morning, taking in what’s been put to the side for the baby. It’s _all_ for the baby, is the thing, but Zayn seems just as excited as he would’ve been had it all been his own.

 

“We can get that done, and then I’m lying down. My body feels sore and disgusting.”

 

“You don’t look disgusting,” Zayn contributes, to which Louis childishly mimics him and picks up a pack of diapers to carry up the stairs.

 

Everything’s practically up within ten minutes of starting and Louis is thankful. He’s fully prepared to go to his room and lie in his bed and watch whatever is on television that can distract him from the twisted feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

Twenty minutes into competitive cooking shows and Zayn’s head pops in the door.

 

“Your bad mood is stinking up the house,” he gives as an explanation. He sits on the edge of the bed before Louis has the time to argue.

 

Louis sighs and puts Gordon Ramsay on mute before sitting up even straighter. He deems it best to go ahead and get it out there because he knows Zayn can and will worm it out of him one way or another. Best just to get it over with. “You can’t tell me you didn’t feel how… _weird_ that party was.”

 

Zayn frowns. “Weird?”

 

Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes. “What with how everyone was skirting around the elephant in the room.”

 

Again, Zayn looks puzzled. “Not sure what elephant you’re talking about, babe.”

 

He has two choices: drop it and suffer, or tell him and suffer. Louis groans and grabs a pillow to put in his lap for comfort.

 

“The fact that we’re having this baby, _together_ , but we aren’t, like, a _thing_ ,” he clarifies. He means to go more in depth, he _really_ does, but Zayn immediately looks put off so Louis keeps his mouth shut.

 

“Well, we certainly aren’t _nothing_ , are we?” he asks.

 

“No,” Louis responds, worrying that he’s already gone and said the wrong thing. He’s got to fix it, think fast. “ _I_ don’t think we are, but we’re, like. We haven’t really discussed anything, have we?”

 

Zayn stares ahead for a few seconds before his face falls and he gives a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders. “Guess we haven’t.”

 

“And that baby shower, that was very—” he pauses, searching for the right way to word it. “—Well, it wasn’t what just two mates who happen to be having a baby together do, was it? A lot of what we’ve been doing isn’t exactly following… etiquette.”

 

Zayn purses his lips like he’s thinking it over. “True,” he agrees, “but I think you were the only one down there worried about it, Lou.”

 

A huff. “Definitely something to worry about, don’t you think?”

 

When Zayn begins to grin, Louis knows it’s officially Not an argument. At least not on Zayn’s end. “If you’re worried about it, then it’s something to worry about.”

 

Louis’ lips turn down into a frown, his shoulders slumping back. Quietly, he mumbles, “I don’t _want_ to worry about it.”

 

Zayn leans on his elbow, looking every bit of sinful and effortlessly gorgeous he is. Louis’ resolve melts. “Let’s come to an agreement then, yeah? We’ll stop trying to be two mates having a baby together, and we’ll start being Zayn and Louis having a baby together.”

 

The idea is a simple one, but it also serves to soothe Louis’ nerves. He leans in, presses the gentlest of kisses to Zayn’s cheek, then resumes his original position. “Fetch me a sweater and some socks and we’ll have a deal.”

 

A pair of socks land beside him in a second. Zayn lingers in his closet on his way to get the sweater, though, and Louis can’t help but ruin the sentimental moment they were just having and ask, “Sniffing my underwear in there?”

 

When he turns around, Louis flushes.

 

In his hands is the jumper of his that Louis still hadn’t bothered to give back for months now, the one he’d washed and worn more times than he could count in that time, the one Liam caught him with the day he confessed about the baby. That jumper. And it’s _in Zayn’s hands._

 

“What’s this, then?”

 

Louis slips the socks onto his cold feet, eyeing Zayn in a way that he hopes conveys how cross he is. “You know what it is. You just want to tease me.”

 

Zayn smiles and tosses the jumper his way. Louis feels his eyes on him as he slides it over his head, stretches it over the bulge of his stomach, and suddenly he feels warm in a way that he’s sure isn’t just because of the extra layer.

 

(When more oversized t-shirts Louis doesn’t remember purchasing turn up in his closet smelling distinctly of Zayn, Louis decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth.)

 

♡

 

The nursery was finished weeks ago, yet Zayn was still finding every reason to be at Louis’ house as often as possible. He’d even started staying the night most nights—sometimes Louis would request he come cuddle or rub his stomach when the baby started getting too active for him to handle alone, and other nights he said nothing and Zayn would get comfortable on the couch while Louis silently sulked himself to sleep over missing him.

 

He was still trying to blame it on the pregnancy, told himself that it had to be little baby Leo making him want Zayn around all the time, or that his hormonal self liked to have a warm body in the bed, but he knew that it was he himself who wanted Zayn practically always. He just wishes he didn’t have to feel so tingly and weird about it.

 

After all, they’re just being _Zayn and Louis having a baby together_ as per their agreement, and Louis believes that Zayn and Louis have every right to sleep in the same bed at night.

 

“Just so you know,” Louis begins, lounging on the couch with his toes tucked comfortably into Zayn’s lap, “even if I don’t explicitly ask you to come to bed with me, it doesn’t mean you can’t join me anyway.”

 

Zayn hums. “Is that what’s had you zoning out for the past half-hour?”

 

Hm. Louis hadn’t even noticed. He shrugs. “Yeah, I suppose.”

 

Zayn grins and wraps a hand around Louis’ ankle, begins massaging lightly. Louis lets out a loud groan of gratitude. “I just figured if you wanted me you’d ask, and if you didn’t, you wouldn’t. So I stayed down here.”

 

“Well,” he attempts to start, but Zayn’s fingers work some sort of magic on him that has him closing his eyes and momentarily losing his train of thought. But—sleeping arrangements, right. “It’s the opposite, see. If I want you, I won’t say anything, but if I don’t want you, then I’ll throw a tantrum and kick you out. Simple.”

 

Zayn keeps his fingers at work even as he lets out a breathy laugh. “Glad we’ve cleared that up, then. I’ll be sure to remember it.”

 

He does; at ten P.M. on the dot, after Louis has finished his shower, thrown on one of the shirts Zayn’s been leaving for him and long since gotten under the covers, Zayn walks in.

 

He’s already gotten on a pair of pajama bottoms but he’s forgone a shirt for the night. Louis has done the reverse, his bare legs feeling like a sly secret under the comforter. He grins once Zayn starts toward the left side of the bed, immediately scoots a little closer once he’s officially joined him. Neither of them says a word and Louis considers it a testament to how things seem to be going back to the way they were before any of this happened.

 

He lets Zayn crowd against his back, tonight being one of the nights that doesn’t make him feel smothered, and lets his mind wander back to all the times they got in this same position back on the buses, or in hotel rooms, or in the back of a bread van, once.

 

“I liked Hazeem,” Zayn mumbles, so close that his breath makes the hairs on the back of Louis’ neck stick up. “You know what it means?”

 

Louis nods. He had been particular about the list of names he gave Zayn and made sure to dig into everything he could to make sure he didn’t fuck anything up. He thought he had when Zayn rejected them all, but now he’s pretty sure he was just being stubborn. As always. “Everywhere I checked said ‘thunder’.”

 

Zayn hums. “So I kept thinking about how thunder—it’s a big boom, yeah? That’s what Leo is like. A big happy boom.”

 

The words come out sleep-slurred and quiet, but Louis doesn’t make any move to question him. If Zayn wants to call their baby a big happy boom, so be it. “Is that the middle name sorted, then?”

 

“Mhmm,” Zayn agrees. “And for the last name.”

 

It’s an unfinished sentence, and Louis can feel the way Zayn’s gone timid and nervous behind him even though he can’t see his face. He reaches back in hopes of finding Zayn’s hand, but all he’s met with is the waistband of his bottoms against his hip. He hopes the gentle squeeze he gives is still reassuring enough. “Any ideas?”

 

“Well, I was hoping we could hyphenate,” he hurries out. “Like Tomlinson-Malik. Or Malik-Tomlinson. It could be a mouthful, so we could always just use one or the other for school and stuff, but I just—”

 

He stops again, but Louis understands what he’s getting at; the lack of his last name on the certificate wouldn’t make Leo any less his, but Louis knows that he’d want his child to be a Tomlinson, too. “Which would go first is the question. Leonardo Hazeem Malik, or Leonardo Hazeem Tomlinson.” He scrunches up his nose at the sound. “No, not Tomlinson. Sounds like the type of guy you avoid.”

 

“I think it’s nice,” Zayn interjects.

 

“But you couldn’t call him Tommo. It would sound weird. _Leo Tommo_. Too many _O_ ’s. And being called Tommo is the best thing about being a Tomlinson.” Louis frowns. “Maybe he could just choose himself one day.”

 

Zayn lets out a little laugh and cuddles closer to Louis’ body. “How about we sleep on it,” he suggests, drapes an arm over Louis’ waist and presses a soft kiss right underneath his ear. It sends a pleasant shiver all the way up his spine.

 

“Hmm,” Louis mumbles, eyes slipping close at how cozy he feels. “Okay. Sleep on it, Malik.”

 

“Got it, Tomlinson,” Zayn whispers. It’s the last thing Louis hears before he’s drifted off to sleep.

 

♡

 

When Louis was younger and accompanying his mother on her regular doctor visits over her baby, he had always wondered how people centuries ago had gotten through their pregnancies. Back when there were no machines or informative pamphlets, no hospitals or drug stores, no calendars or watches. He had always been curious about how they knew when they were pregnant, but even more intrigued by how they determined a due date.

 

Now, though, he gets it. With his own due date only a couple of weeks away, it’s like his own body is informing him that _hey, you’re going to have a baby soon_ in any way it can.

 

He can’t explain it as anything more than just a nagging feeling, but it’s definitely there, and it’s getting kind of old.

 

The nursery is done, they’re stocked up on diapers and clothes and formulas and anything else they could possibly need. He’s had a whole fucking seven and a half months to prepare himself for the moment the baby arrives, and Zayn is practically putty in its hands already. The point is, _they’re ready_ , but it seems little Leo has decided to draw this out until the very last second.

 

He’s tired of feeling fat, of the constant peeing, the headaches, the swollen ankles—the _everything_. He’s earned having his baby here at this point and he doesn’t know why he’s being tortured like this.

 

The only solace in it all is that Zayn is around near always to hear Louis’ complaining.

 

The first time, he tried reminding Louis that patience is a virtue. That was also the only time, because Louis had quickly reminded him that his stomach hadn’t been uncomfortably tightening up for days now among a million other _uncomfortable_ things.

 

November turns to December in the blink of an eye. He’s exactly five days out from the date his doctor had given him. His birthday is in three weeks and he really doesn’t want to _still_ be dealing with this by then. No, he’d like to have his baby out of his stomach and in his arms, thank you, and he’s even tried telling as much to Leo when he wakes him up at three in the morning.

 

Five days shrinks to four. Four days shrinks to three, and then Louis really starts to lose it.

 

He’s doing everything he can—he asked his mother for ways to encourage labor, googled the same, and since then he’s drank all the gross teas and eaten any of the weird foods he could stomach to help speed things up. And yet.

 

It’s when two days ‘til has turned into two days overdue that Louis finally breaks and decides to go for the one thing he wanted to avoid outright _asking_ for.

 

Nearly every website he checked had mentioned sex. Apparently a scientifically unconfirmed method, but he’s read the comments, seen the satisfied parents saying the trick worked. And, well. He’s down to his last grain of hope.

 

Zayn and Louis never had a problem fucking before, and they’ve done everything but the revered penetration over the past few weeks when Louis’ body craved it. That’s what this can technically be counted as, right? A craving? A side effect of pregnancy?

 

He decides to set into action that night when they went to bed. They’ll both already be half-naked anyway, and Louis is always vaguely horny around bedtime seemingly on reflex. That’s his most opportune moment and he plans to take advantage.

 

The minute Zayn sets foot in the bedroom, Louis can see the way he’s pent up and ready to pounce. It’s a look he grew used to seeing on tour, especially after particularly energetic shows, and it’s like everything’s working in his favor for the night.

 

“Hey,” Zayn greets him, pressing a chaste kiss to Louis’ lips. “Think I’m gonna get a shower before bed, okay?”

 

Louis stares in disbelief. “A shower?”

 

Unsurprisingly, Zayn’s antsy self can’t keep still. It’s obvious he’s trying to keep his cool with how strained his voice sounds as he replies, “Yeah, a shower.”

 

At this, Louis can’t help but scoff. “You’re not going for a shower. You’re going for a wank,” he states plainly. “No point in trying to hide it, Z. You’ve got _horny_ written all over your face.”

 

Zayn stiffens. He looks like an actual deer caught in headlights. There’s an internal battle, it seems, before he finally mumbles petulantly, “I have _needs_.”

 

Louis wastes no time in wrapping one hand around the back of Zayn’s neck and pulling him close. “You _have_ me,” he retorts, lets his eyes scan over every part of Zayn’s pretty face. He’s really lucked out on having sex with someone this pretty, he thinks.

 

“ _You_ have a baby due any day now and _I_ can deal with the shower,” Zayn argues, rubs a thumb over the top of Louis’ hand sweetly. “Promise I’ll be quick.”

 

“ _Zayn_ ,” Louis whines, shuffling himself as much closer to Zayn as he can with his size. “I haven’t had a dick up my arse since _March_.”

 

He’s close enough to feel Zayn’s breath hit his cheek and the action’s enough to get Louis embarrassingly hard. Zayn’s face draws into a look of pity. “Lou. You’ve got a baby ready to come out any minute now. That’s got to be unsafe or unsanitary or something.”

 

Louis huffs. “My ass isn’t filthy, thank you,” he deadpans. He coughs. “And, uh. It’s not unsafe. It—” God. There’s really no tame way to put it, is there? “It can… _encourage_ him to make an appearance sooner rather than later.”

 

“Him? As in our baby him?” Zayn asks, already sounding scandalized at the mere thought. Louis sheepishly nods. “I’m not going to have sex with you just to make _our baby_ hurry up. He’ll come in his own time.”

 

At that, Louis gets irrationally upset and goes from calm to biting in seconds. “So you can fuck to put it in me, but you can’t fuck to get it out?”

 

“Don’t talk like that. That’s—that’s a baby, _our_ baby, not an it,” Zayn scolds, then sighs. “And that’s not even the type of talk to get me in the mood.”

 

“ _In the mood_?” Louis questions much louder than necessary. “I’m sorry, let me think about _your_ needs right now. Any other preferences you want to toss my way?”

 

Zayn frowns and attempts to put a hand on Louis’ jaw that only gets shoved away. He sighs and moves it to the side of Louis’ stomach where he begins rubbing gently. Louis never has it in him to take his hands off when he’s on his belly, and apparently being pissed at him makes no difference. “Louis.”

 

He’s so calm and collected when he speaks that Louis just cracks. Stops being as angry and starts being more upset in an instant. “I just don’t wanna be pregnant anymore.”

 

He pauses to give Zayn his time to cut in, but he just watches Louis with a level expression and a hint of a smile. Louis decides not to waste his opportunity to complain. “I hurt, and I feel gross, and I can’t have the foods I want and it’s all—I really want to have him out here instead of in there, is all,” he finishes, voice small.

 

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says softly. “I know you can’t feel the best right now. I shouldn’t have said what I said.” He presses his lips to Louis’ cheek and continues his rubbing. If he’s aiming to get Louis to relax, he’s definitely succeeding. “I want to see him, too.”

 

Louis smiles at the admission—as if he didn’t already know as much—and tilts his head up for a kiss, which Zayn gladly gives. Because apparently kissing outside of getting each other off is something they do now. Louis doesn’t like to dwell on it.

 

Zayn’s hand starts to move down Louis’ body, stopping right over the waistband of his pants. Louis lets out a desperate sort of sound and mumbles a, “Please,” right into Zayn’s cheek.

 

Fingertips dig into his hip; Zayn pulls back so he and Louis are face to face instead of mouth to mouth. “Why?”

 

Louis frowns like the question doesn’t make sense—it’s not something he’s ever asked Louis so explicitly, not even when they first started fooling around, and he’s not about to fuck up his answer. He swallows. “’Cause aside from the moving this along,” he nods down at his stomach, “I’ve always been a big fan of those bedroom eyes and what’s attached to them, and everything that comes along with it.”

 

Zayn buries a laugh into the crook of Louis’ neck, muttering, “Could’ve just stopped after bedroom eyes.”

 

Louis wants to tell him that he couldn’t have because he was pretty sure he’s so in love with him that keeping it to himself would make him explode, that he needed to say something because Zayn deserved to hear it, that the words weren’t even enough to explain everything that comes to mind when he thinks about him. But he doesn’t say any of those things because they’re probably too much for a moment like this, so instead, he only offers a short, “At least now you know.”

 

Zayn only hums in response because his lips are back to work on Louis’ neck this time. He braces a hand on either side of Louis’ neck, leans down to _really_ get into it. Louis moans unabashedly and lets himself get distracted by watching the way Zayn’s body moves so often just out of kissing Louis’ neck.

 

Louis has missed this. He one-hundred percent believes Zayn has different settings when it comes to sex; there’s the Zayn who’s ready to please, the Zayn who’s ready to _be_ pleased, and the Zayn who acts like his sole life purpose is to fuck. 

 

The third is what’s coming out tonight, and Louis is pretty elated.

 

A hand caresses his side while the thumb curls up and ghosts over his nipple through his shirt. Louis whimpers; he’s been so terribly sensitive these past few weeks and his nipples seem to have gotten the worst of it. Zayn’s not been too rough on them for that reason, but he’s not shied away from giving them enough attention to have them harden up and draw a good amount of noises out of Louis, either.

 

When Zayn rises up from the crook of Louis’ neck, his lips are red and swollen and spit-slick—the epitome of blowjob lips, Louis thinks—yet his eyes look as innocent as ever as he asks, “Can you hand me the lube?”

 

It’s a hot contrast, really.

 

Louis makes a reach for the lube in the nightstand, causing his shirt to ride up enough to expose the bottom of his stomach. Once he grabs it and starts to move his arms back toward himself, he expects his shirt to go with them, but instead it keeps riding up. When he looks down to see what’s going on, he catches Zayn’s fingers lifting the clothing up off of his body.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Louis bites.

 

Zayn pauses. “Undressing you.”

 

He drops the lube onto the bed and covers Zayn’s hands with his own to pull his shirt back down. “Well, you can stop that.”

 

That was Louis’ number one rule when it came to them doing this type of stuff—his shirt stays on. He tries to tell Zayn that it’s not because he’s insecure about the way his body looks now with a baby growing inside of it, but neither of them believe that or whatever excuse he comes up with to keep it on. Zayn’s been good about not pressing him on it, but apparently he’s decided that now is a good time to challenge it.

 

“Come on,” he whispers, all soft smiles and comfort. “You’ll feel a lot better without it. Gonna have you hot and sweaty in no time.”

 

Louis grunts. “I’ll be fine. Shirt’s thin, see?”

 

Zayn grabs the lube and sets it beside himself, begins shimmying Louis out of his boxers. “Just wanna see you,” he admits, running his hands up under Louis’ shirt to span across his stomach. “Missed seeing that beautiful body.”

 

It sounds innocent enough, but Louis—well, Louis knows what’s underneath his shirt. He’s doing Zayn a favor. “It’s not the same body you remember under there.”

 

Zayn chuckles. “Obviously,” he remarks, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Louis’ bump. “You’ve got that pregnant glow about you now. Besides, nothing could ever make your body stop being beautiful.”

 

Louis can’t hold back his huff. “Writing poetry to get in someone’s pants, now? Better jot that one down, save it for later.”

 

“Yours are the only pants I want in,” Zayn swears, toying with the hem of Louis’ too-big t-shirt. “I only say it because I mean it, yeah? You know that.”

 

He glances down to where Zayn’s hands are lingering and tries not to panic. He swallows and nods jerkily. “I’m stalling,” he admits.

 

Zayn keeps up his soothing circles, albeit a bit higher than before, and Louis calms down visibly. He begins sucking a new spot into Louis’ neck, right underneath his chin, and it’s good enough that Louis’ eyes flutter. “Your choice, babe. Just want you to know you’re incapable of turning me off.”

 

Louis knows that. He’s known that since his first time sleeping with Zayn all the way back on the X Factor when not even his scrawny nineteen-year-old body was enough to dispel him, but hearing Zayn reaffirm it aloud now feels good, too. He gets a burst of confidence, decides that in the worst case scenario, he can always change names and move to a remote island.

 

“Take it off,” he breathes, voice wispy and light. Zayn hears him all the same and smiles, gives Louis a solid five seconds to take it back, and continues to go torturously slow about removing the damn shirt to give Louis one last cop-out. At that point, Louis is kind of fed up with waiting and uses his own hands to urge Zayn’s along.

 

Once it’s off, the only thing Louis has left to hide his body is his underwear, and Zayn’s already dug his thumbs up under the waistband. He lets out a shaky breath and waits, but a thumb disappears and two seconds later, there’s a hand rubbing over the protrusion of his stomach. A pair of lips land on his cheek; it’s tender enough to make Louis shiver. “Most beautiful person in the world.”

 

Louis wants to go for the cheap move and direct him to a mirror, but more than that, he wants to lie pretty and pliant and let Zayn go through with whatever he’s trying.

 

Zayn starts to slide Louis’ boxers down; he lifts up as much as he can to speed the process up, and soon he’s completely naked with yet another pair of underwear added to the pile of clothes on his floor. While Zayn runs his hands up and down his body in admiration, a pain starts pinging at the bottom of his spine. Which is just perfect, for his stupid body to start hurting just as he’s about to get what he wants.

 

He tries to keep his squirming discreet, figures that a few more minutes of back pain would be worth the sex. He must not disguise it well enough because then there’s a hand on his side and Zayn’s voice echoing above him. “You okay?”

 

Louis stops the wobble of his lip by biting it. “My back,” he says, immediately feels stupid and helpless as soon as the words are out. “It’s just—I’ve been on it too long. If I can get on my side, though…”

 

He trails off as he starts to turn himself over; he doesn’t want to give Zayn even a second to try and call it off. Thankfully, a second set of hands help keep him steady. “Can you still—you know?”

 

Suddenly, two slick fingers prod against his hole. It’s surprising enough that he lets out an embarrassingly loud squeak, keeps panting while a finger finds its way inside. Faintly, he hears Zayn let out a satisfied laugh. “Course I can.”

 

That’s the last words either of them utter for a while, if you don’t count Louis’ grunts and moans. Zayn’s focused on fingering him open and Louis is trying to focus on not completely losing it just yet. But Zayn’s fingers are just as skilled as ever and it’s really kind of driving him insane.

 

Zayn hits his prostate dead on only a few moments later; Louis clenches his thighs together and lets out a breathy whimper. At this rate, Louis is going to be coming in minutes and he is _not_ going to ruin this by coming too early. Again.

 

Reluctantly, he sighs. “I’ll never say this to you again,” he starts, “but quit making it so good for me.”

 

A laugh sounds throughout the room. Zayn peaks around him while Louis cranes his neck to see his devilish grin. “Don’t think you can come twice?”

 

Normally, coming twice is a breeze for Louis. _Especially_ if it was with Zayn. But. “Let’s not bite off more than we can chew, alright? Focus on getting in me.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Zayn teases, but his fingertips stop toying with his prostate and begin to stretch him out more. It’s definitely still good because he’s pretty desperate, and it is _Zayn_ he’s talking about, but it’s much more bearable. He staves off his own orgasm with a tight hand around the base of his cock and keeps his mind on anything except Zayn’s perfect form behind him.

 

“Okay,” Zayn mumbles. Louis can hear the wet sound of lube against skin and figures he’s slicking himself up. It’s such a relief that Louis’ shoulders physically slump as he lets out a long breath. “You ready?”

 

“Just _go_ ,” Louis demands impatiently.

 

When he initially pushes in, he doesn’t stop until he’s bottomed out. Louis can feel the material of his pajama bottoms rubbing against the backs of his thighs when he settles, and it’s hot, is the thing. It makes Louis think back to all the times he pulled Zayn’s cock out of his pants, dropped his own far enough to give Zayn access to his bum and how they would fuck just like that because they were so desperate for each other that stripping seemed like a waste of time. Sometimes the indents of the zipper of Zayn’s jeans would leave marks all up his bum and then Louis would end up horny all over again when he discovered them the next morning in the shower.

 

It’s a certifiable kink, he thinks. A kink he’ll be happy to discuss with Zayn at a later time. Preferably after he’s fucked him so well that the only sex he can recall is the sex he’s having right then and there.

 

Zayn thrusts into Louis slow but deep, gentle even as Louis can hear the strain in his breathing to hold back. It’s a testament to how badly Louis doesn’t want to jeopardize this that he doesn’t utter a single complaint, lets Zayn determine the pace and the roughness all on his own.

 

He wishes he could’ve done this on his back because seeing Zayn’s face right now would be a blessing, but he’ll have to settle for clenching his eyes shut and imagining it for himself. He remembers the way Zayn always looked in the dim lighting of hotel rooms while he was looming over him, pounding him for all it was worth. How he would go hard enough that he would be sweating and fatigued but would just keep going, keep fucking Louis until they both were sufficiently fucked out.

 

The thought paired with the pleasure of having Zayn inside of him after so long makes him clench around his dick _hard_. Zayn falters at the feeling, buries his face into Louis’ hair and inhales deeply.

 

“So tight,” he pants, “Still such a perfect boy for me. All this time, didn’t fuck anyone else, hmm?”

 

Louis shakes his head, mutters a string of, “No, no, no,” and hopes that Zayn hears him. 

 

“Fuck,” he whispers. In a second, Louis feels two fingers come up to rub over his nipples. He gasps at the tingle it sends throughout his entire body, but Zayn doesn’t let up. He keeps touching and prodding until Louis actually screams from the pleasure. “Laying here for me, naked and full of my baby. Letting me take care of you, you’re— _God_ , Louis, you don’t have any _idea_ how perfect you are for me, babe.”

 

Louis writhes around under both the attention to his chest and the praise, wants to push up into the touch but to also curl back into Zayn’s embrace. He’s starting to get overwhelmed again and fast but he can’t bring himself to mind.

 

“I’m gonna—” he breaks off into a whine when Zayn nibbles at the sensitive spot just below his ear. “ _Zayn_ ,” he groans, almost on the verge of tears.

 

“Shh,” Zayn quiets him, soothes a hand over his stomach to calm him down. “I’ve got you, don’t I? I’ll make you come, baby, swear.”

 

With that, he resumes leaving marks up Louis’ neck while Louis continues to pant uncontrollably. He almost reaches down to touch himself just so he can finally get his orgasm, but Zayn chooses that moment to pick up his pace so he’s going fast enough to jolt Louis’ body with every thrust. “Come,” he says firmly, and he gets his fingers around Louis’ tip just in time to have him come into his hand.

 

Louis wavers, can’t make out much of his muddled thoughts once he’s started coming, but he can hear a voice that sounds like his own whimpering out Zayn’s name over and over. He keeps his eyes closed and focuses on the warm, fuzzy feeling that’s overtaking his body. He’s just cognizant enough to recognize the feeling of Zayn coming inside of him and allows himself to bask in it.

 

He’s never going so long without this again.

 

When he comes to, Zayn’s stroking his hands through his hair and pressing kisses up his jaw all while mumbling about how good Louis was for him. Louis feels taken care of, protected. He reaches for the arm around his stomach and threads their fingers together, hopes the action conveys just how content he is.

 

He turns his head to face Zayn and glances at every bit of him, from the gentle smile on his lips to the soft shine in his eyes. Zayn has a face that looks impeccable even on his worst days, but this is in another realm entirely—it’s not the sex that’s made him like this because Louis has many-a-times seen Zayn glow in the aftermath of an orgasm and this isn’t it. He looks… relaxed. Like he’s finally unwound.

 

He still seems just as peaceful in his sleep a couple of hours later—so much so that Louis almost feels guilty for waking him up. Except he kind of has to get him up right that second because his baby is about to come into the world.

 

The only thing Louis can be bothered to say the entire frantic way to the hospital is a smug, “I told you that would work.”

 

            ♡

 

It’s painful to have a baby. Louis has always known that, but he’d been intentionally not thinking about it for the past nine months. Now, though. Now he _knows_.

 

Zayn holds his hand through it, even when Louis gets so nervous that he clutches it for dear life and the tips of his fingers go purple from the pressure Louis is applying. He stays right beside Louis every second he can for support, tells him how wonderful he’s doing, how amazing he is for doing this, how thankful he is to be here. Louis even catches him tearing up once or twice.

 

Louis gets it. It’s emotional and sentimental and all the sappy shit you see in the magazines and movies. But Louis is in a tremendous amount of pain and he would really like to keep the mood light.

 

“Hey,” he mumbles, gripping Zayn’s hand tight. Zayn stares at him expectantly, clearly waiting for something heartfelt and meaningful, something to remember forever from the day his first child was born.

 

Louis gestures down to the lower half of his body. “I dare you to look.”

 

It takes a second but Zayn understands, and then he’s laughing the laugh Louis loves so much and shaking his head. “Focus on having our son, babe.”

 

It isn’t the ideal place for the realization to take place—sweaty in a hospital gown with his bare ass on the bed and a good amount of doctors buzzing about only a few inches away—but Louis thinks he’s in love with Zayn all over again.

 

♡

 

It’s really weird for Louis. Yesterday he was just Louis, but today he’s Louis with a baby. He’s suddenly responsible for a whole other life besides his own. He thought the months leading up to this were preparation enough, but thinking about it, knowing it was going to happen, was nothing compared to the real thing.

 

Leonardo Hazeem Malik-Tomlinson is born in the early hours of December 14th, 2015—a healthy baby boy with all of the indistinguishable features every baby has, but Louis still thinks he’s the most beautiful newborn he’s ever laid eyes on. Pretty enough that Louis finally joins Zayn on the sentimental train and starts crying like a bitch as soon as he’s placed in his arms.

 

Zayn hovers over the two of them while Louis holds him, face so evidently awestruck that it only makes Louis cry harder. He’s had a good nine months to get all the tears and emotions out of his system, but he swears he’s never in the entirety of the pregnancy—or his _life_ —felt so hormonal.

 

He ends up shrugging the hospital gown from his shoulders as he recalls his mother always noting how important skin-to-skin contact was after birth. Once he’s suitably bare, he cradles Leo like he’s the most precious and fragile thing he’s ever held—which, he is, really. Definitely.

 

A woman pops in to inform him that the baby will want to be fed very soon and Louis almost wants to snap at her—he’s Leo’s own flesh and blood, thank you, and he knows what his baby needs without someone else informing him.

 

He feels Zayn’s eyes burning holes into him as he feeds their son. Louis can only watch Leo’s face—the squint of his eyes, the pucker on his lips. He’s perfect, Louis is sure of it.

 

“We need a picture,” Zayn speaks to Louis but doesn’t for a second tear his eyes away from their son. “Everyone’s asking for a picture, and I want to have this captured in a photo forever. God, he’s so _small_.”

 

Louis somehow manages to convince Zayn to move away long enough to pass a nurse his phone so she can get a photo of the three of them. He lets Zayn squeeze in close beside him, wrap an arm around his shoulders. His other hand comes up to cover Louis’ own on top of Leo. They both grin at the lens long enough for the photo to be taken, but their eyes go straight back to Leo on reflex once it’s over.

 

Zayn gets a couple more of the two of them before Louis mumbles about how he’s not looking his best after hours of labor so _maybe_ he could calm it down. Zayn snaps another few photos of Leo alone and sets his phone aside.

 

Eventually, the adrenaline wears off and fatigue from having just _had a baby_ settles in. His eyes start drooping no matter how hard he tries to keep them open because he doesn’t want to take them off of his son for a second. He knows he’s going to fall victim to sleep any second now, so reluctantly, he asks Zayn to take Leo from his arms.

 

“Thank you,” Zayn mutters as he cradles the baby to his chest. Louis moves to tell him that he’s his son, too, that he has every right to hog him just like Louis did, but one look at Zayn’s face tells him that’s not all he meant.

 

Louis grins. “I’m glad it was with you.”

 

He falls asleep watching as Zayn gets himself wrapped more and more tightly around Leo’s little finger.

 

♡

 

When he wakes up, he can hear a distinctly female voice speaking in hushed whispers.

 

Not yet aware of who or what it could be, Louis’ first thought is to open his eyes and check on his baby. He finds him in the arms of someone who isn’t Zayn, but one glance at this stranger’s face tells him that it’s only Trisha.

 

“Lou,” Zayn says with a smile. Louis wouldn’t doubt that he hasn’t stopped smiling since he first caught sight of Leo hours ago. “My mum made it up, but Jay had to wait a bit to make sure someone was watching the kids. She’ll be here soon, though, she says.”

 

Louis smiles and nods in acknowledgement, then immediately directs his gaze back to his baby in Trisha’s arms. She’s just as entranced as he witnessed Zayn become at the hands of their son, her lips turned up into a face-splitting grin while she gently rocks him. He catches Zayn staring too, and Louis can already see the protective side of him building despite the only “threat” being his own mother. But it’s a normal thing, Louis thinks, for him to want his child to be safe. He’s endeared by it, even.

 

“He’s a gorgeous baby,” Trisha finally speaks, voice only slightly above a whisper and as soft as silk. “He’s gotten his dark hair from Zayn.”

 

Louis hums his agreement; though there were only a few strands on top of his head at the moment, they were all distinctly darker than Louis’ hair has ever been.

 

“I think his nose looks like Louis’ nose,” Zayn interjects, hand hovering over the edge of the bed Louis’ laying in. “Believe me, I spent a lot of time just staring at his face. He’s got a Tomlinson nose.”

 

Placing a gentle hand on top of Zayn’s, Louis grins. Zayn reciprocates, smile so wide his face looks like it’ll break. Louis is content, he swears. It’s just that he’d be a lot more content with his son a little closer.

 

“Could you bring him over here?” he asks gently, trying not to sound as on-edge as he feels.

 

Trisha just smiles knowingly and carefully passes Leo into his arms while Zayn watches with a keen eye. Louis hums once he’s settled into his hold, gazes down at the scrunched up face of his child and grins.

 

Finally, Leo opens his eyes for Louis. Louis gets stuck staring at the dull grey color, but sees enough of a tint to know they’re going to be blue like his own, he’s sure of it. They’re going to be gorgeous on him, of course, because any and every color would work for such a perfect face. Louis still feels a little surprised, though, because up until now he had imagined a baby with the same warm, honey-brown eyes as Zayn has and Louis loves. This, though—it’s still pretty fucking amazing, he thinks.

 

Dazed, Louis reaches one of his own fingers toward Leo’s tiny, tiny fist and finds himself in awe. He’s so delicate that it’s killing Louis to think that he can’t hold him twenty-four seven, has to sleep sometimes and therefore can’t keep a constant eye on him. He’s just a _baby_ and Louis—Louis can’t let him out of his sight. No way.

 

Suddenly there are cries filling the room. Loud and shrill, and Louis is suddenly very, very alert and very, very worried.

 

“He’s been doing that off and on for hours,” Zayn says. Louis supposes he caught sight of his widened eyes. “It’s nothing. Just babies liking to cry.”

 

The words don’t calm Louis, but instead inspire a bit of jealousy to bubble up in his stomach. _He_ should know that, not have to hear it from Zayn’s mouth. He’s going to have to start learning his son, catching up with whatever Zayn knows right this minute, and even out the playing field.

 

He pets and coos at Leo to try and coax him into silence while Zayn and Trisha begin discussing when they’ll take him home (it’s mostly Zayn rambling excitedly while Trisha smiles and nods along). After a long five minutes spent with no luck appeasing him, Louis goes to feed him once again—instantly, Leo’s mouth becomes more preoccupied with eating than screaming his lungs out.

 

With his son finally quiet and Louis no longer busy, he finds himself feeling fatigued yet again. He leans his head back against his pillow and shuts his eyes, intends to rest them until Leo decides he’s done.

 

It’s been ten minutes, _tops_ , when a voice sounds in his ear, softly, “Boobear?”

 

He blinks his eyes open and immediately his gaze lands on his mother, hovering over him with a beaming grin. Louis grins and opens up his free arm for a hug which she gladly leans into. He buries his face in her neck and doesn’t pull away until he feels another hand come worm its way onto his thigh.

 

When he turns around to find the culprit even though he already _knows_ who it is, he’s met with Zayn’s innocent smile. He gives a look but decides it doesn’t need any commentary, especially not with both of their curious mothers in the room.

 

“This is it.” Trisha comes to Jay’s side, hand extended and carefully placed on her back. “We’ve become grandmas. He’s right precious, though, isn’t he?”

 

When Louis’ eyes land on his mother, he notices she’s already gotten teary-eyed and pink-cheeked. “Beautiful,” she agrees, not missing a beat. “May I?”

 

He has to pry Zayn’s other hand from him, but he eventually gets Leo into his mother’s waiting arms. Immediately, she falls under his spell just as everyone else had before her.

 

“Oh, my,” she whispers, eyes scanning over every miniscule detail of her grandchild’s face. “He’s well worth becoming a forty-two year old grandma. Just a doll, isn’t he?”

 

She begins bouncing and cooing, adapts her baby voice as she gives him compliments that he clearly can’t understand. Trisha joins in after a moment with her own words of flattery, showering him with praises and happy sounds that Leo simply squirms around to. It’s the purest sight Louis has ever seen, right behind observing Zayn’s gentle nature toward his own son.

 

Another hand comes to rest on Louis’ arm with soft strokes that make Louis want to melt into a puddle. He turns toward Zayn and matches his glowing smile with a beam of his own. “I know we did, like, three whole world tours with each other, but this is our biggest accomplishment yet.”

 

“No competition,” Louis agrees. He flips over his hand so it’s palm up and waits for Zayn to take the hint and hold it. “My whole body is going to be fucked for ages now, and I can’t even make myself be upset about it.”

 

“Your body is going to be fucking cool, ‘cause it carried a baby. Everyone will say so.” He grins. “I won’t let you forget it.”

 

Louis laughs carelessly, offering Zayn a fond roll of his eyes. “You make it sound like it takes a superhero to have a baby.”

 

Zayn nods. “It does.”

 

At that, Louis can’t help but sigh affectionately. Zayn’s got a face that’s too pretty, too sharp to be so precious, but he still somehow fucking does it. “It’s kind of an everyday occurrence, see. Lots of babies being born as we speak.”

 

“Then there are lots of superheroes in the world,” Zayn reasons, smile as easy as ever. “Which is good, since we have Leo now.”

 

Louis hums. He smiles because he honestly can’t help it when Zayn’s to his left and his baby’s to his right in the arms of family. It’s the kind of moment in the movies, he thinks, when the main character thinks their whole life has finally fallen into place. As far as Louis is concerned, everything is well and right in between the walls of this hospital room and that’s all that really matters.

 

He squeezes Zayn’s hand once and lets out a content sigh. Everything has fallen into place, each piece a perfect fit, and Louis has no idea how anything else to come in his life could ever beat this.

 

♡

 

The first few days once Leo is home are long. There’s lots of screaming and diapers and stress, and an instance of actual crying over actual spilled milk on Zayn’s end when he dropped a bottle. Louis hadn’t even teased him about it until they were safely back in bed with Leo snoozing carelessly down the hall. He thinks that’s a show in itself of how much a baby affects someone.

 

It feels like his house is a museum with how many people come and go over the course of first week. The rest of his family comes down for an entire day when Leo is three days old, and then Zayn’s family the next (when his eyes land on Yaser, Zayn makes sure to immediately beeline to him so he can personally introduce him to his grandson like the much-too-proud father he is). The boys trickle in and out amongst it all to meet the “first 1D baby” as Niall eloquently puts it, and Louis would laugh if he didn’t say it so seriously.

 

Time passes in a pinch, and the day of his own birthday comes; Louis nearly forgets it in his haste to make sure Leo’s first Christmas is perfect despite the fact that he won’t be able to remember it. Zayn still makes a big deal out of waking Louis up with a homemade birthday cake on the morning of December 24th. Somehow he manages to receive a quick yet mind-numbingly wonderful blowjob before Leo’s shrieks interrupt the two of them.

 

Among all the crying and screaming, Louis still can’t make himself feel angry for even a second, is the thing. Sometimes all the loud will get annoying, but then Louis will look down at the innocent face of his son and he’s suddenly too enamored to be upset. It’s like a blessing, really.

 

If Louis is bad, then Zayn is downright awful about it. In the few moments they have free time from the constant run and go taking care of a baby requires, Zayn’s bouncing his knee or chewing a fingernail, antsy to get back to being a parent. He’s already doing so perfectly at being a dad and Louis is sure to remind him of the fact at every opportunity if only for the brilliant beam of a smile that will encompass Zayn’s face when he hears it.

 

Louis is most definitely in love with the both of his boys, so much so that he’s sure he’s going to burst.

 

He waits for the perfect moment to let Zayn in on his secret—when Louis pops out of the shower to see Zayn cheerfully cooing at his baby in his lap, it feels like as good a time as any.

 

“Lou, look,” Zayn stammers before Louis can even think of getting a word in. “Here, give him your finger.”

 

Smiling, Louis holds out his index towards his son and watches as his dainty fingers curl and uncurl before finally latching into a little fist around his own. He’s got a good grip already, which Louis knows because Leo hasn’t been shy about proving it thus far, but Zayn seems utterly fascinated.

 

“He’s got you good, right? Gonna be a strong one,” he reasons, giving Leo a bright grin. Leo’s response is a smile of his own on reflex, but it satisfies Zayn as if it were a real one. Louis takes a seat beside of him and gets close, draws his knees up underneath him as he rests an arm behind him.

 

“He loves you,” he begins nervously, eyes already averted to Zayn’s face so he can gauge every reaction. “I don’t think he’s the only one.”

 

Instead of the surprised, shocked look Louis had prepared for, he’s met with Zayn giving a soft sigh and a murmured, “I figured.”

 

It takes a second, but Louis finally realizes he’s joking. He hits his arm very gently as Leo is still in his hands and he can’t risk going any harder, but his point is still made, he hopes. “I’ll take it back if you want to be like that.”

 

“You won’t,” Zayn says confidently, taking a break from making faces at Leo to look Louis in the eyes. He grins and puckers his lips dramatically, waits for Louis to close the gap and kiss him. Louis does, of course, because he’ll never turn Zayn down. “I think the both of us love you, too.”

 

Louis tries to keep his face steady, but that lasts for all of three seconds before he’s got a grin bursting across his face. He goes in for another kiss but he keeps this one slower, sweeter, smiling against Zayn’s mouth once it’s over.

 

Leo makes an indignant-sounding noise and curls both hands into fists yet again—Louis knows it’s not, but it almost looks like he’s challenging them to a fight, which is simply precious and adorable and every synonym in between.

 

“ _Strong_ , I’m telling you,” Zayn mumbles.

 

Louis hums his agreement. There’s no use in arguing with the one he loves.

 

♡

 

Louis thinks he wants Zayn to move in.

 

The thought feels both too soon and too late with how backwards everything in the past year has gone for the two of them—from fucking to fighting to parenting to fucking to loving. Maybe it would be too soon if they had gone and done things traditionally, subtracted some things from the equation and rearranged the rest, but Louis can’t say any bit of what he’s experiencing now feels wrong.

                                                                                                                          

He loves Zayn and Zayn loves him which is really the only endgame he’d been gunning for since the beginning. They just have someone else to love now, too, and he’s sure Leo has really brought their tiny family together in the best way possible.

 

So on the morning of January 12th, Louis pulls the key he’d had made a week prior from his nightstand and clenches it tight in his fist while he waits for Zayn to wake up.

 

He watches as Zayn’s breath starts to pick up and his brain properly wakes up—his first sign of alertness and Louis is kissing him sweet and slow and soft. Zayn’s sluggish at first, takes a few agonizing seconds to respond, but he’s enthusiastic once he does.

 

Timidly, Louis pulls away and brings his fist front and center. “Happy birthday,” he says with a grin, slowly uncurling his fingers so his gift is revealed. “Move in with me.”

 

Zayn blinks his eyes open and looks down at the key in Louis’ hand with a breathy chuckle. “Haven’t been paying attention much these past few months, have you?” he mumbles, words slurred with sleep. “Already live here. Look where I am now. My bed, my house.”

 

Louis scoots an inch closer to him, places the key on his bare chest. “It’s official now, yeah? You’ve got a key.”

 

Zayn smiles and pinches the key between his index and thumb. “Can’t give me a key to my own house for my birthday.”

 

This time, Louis can’t help the eye roll. “I don’t see your name on the lease,” he argues coolly, then adds, “There’s more in the closet downstairs.”

 

“My closet in my house.” Zayn props himself up onto his elbow and leans so he’s looming over Louis. “Whole fucking place is mine, along with everything in it.”

 

Louis moves fast when he puts both hands on Zayn’s cheeks and pulls his face closer. When they’re only an inch or two apart, Louis forces eye contact. Zayn blinks blearily, so evidently unfazed that Louis sighs and lets him go. “I completely forgot what I was going to say.”

 

“No, you communicated through the eye contact,” Zayn interjects. “You said you agree and you love me.”

 

Louis chews the inside of his cheek. “Well, I didn’t lie for the most part.”

 

“Good.” Zayn drapes an arm across Louis’ chest and gives a weak pull. Louis realizes what he’s aiming for instantly and gets in position so Zayn’s spooning him from behind. “Now that we’ve got that solved, we’re going to go back to sleep ‘cause it’s my birthday and I say.”

 

He wants to mention how he’s got a breakfast planned and how it’s already nearing nine, but Zayn’s already slowing his breathing down once again. Louis decides to just let him have this one—it _is_ his birthday, after all.

 

He closes his own eyes, reaches for the arm still around his body and intertwines his fingers with Zayn’s. A moment later, a pair of lips hit the back of his neck and a, “Love you, too,” is muttered into his neck.

 

Louis gives it ten minutes before Leo’s cries wake them up.

 

He absolutely wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed! if not you can leave me hate messages if that will really make you feel better.
> 
> tumblr: [zourry](http://zourry.tumblr.com)


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